


Magical Relations - Fifth Year

by evansentranced



Series: Magical Relations [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, General, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Humor, Magical Dudley Dursley, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 91,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evansentranced/pseuds/evansentranced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Dudley's fifth year. Highlights include teenage angst, Petunia Dursley, more socialising than is necessarily healthy, civil disobedience, and familial discord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doorbell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> [](http://imgur.com/LEVeJFv)  
>   
> 
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> (banner by j1mmyj6zz, but the account I have for them is deactivated. Let me know if you know how I can credit them!) 

When Harry and Dudley got off the train at King's Cross, Uncle Vernon was waiting for them. He helped them put their trunks in the boot and pulled out of the car park in relative silence, listening to Dudley's chatter about the year. Harry was free to subside quietly into the backseat and let the sound of Dudley's voice wash over him.

By the time they reached the motorway, though, Dudley had run out of stories that had nothing to do with what had happened to Harry and trailed off, uncertain.

"I have a question," Vernon said, glancing at Harry in the rearview. "What's all this I've been reading about you in the paper?"

Harry blinked. "You read the Daily Prophet?" he asked, baffled and suddenly embarrassed.

"They send it through the post," Uncle Vernon explained. "Wrapped in parcel paper. Stop avoiding the question. What have you been up to this year, boy? The paper said-"

"Oh, that wasn't Harry's fault," Dudley interrupted. "That awful woman was making things up to make him look bad because she was mad he wouldn't talk to her."

Vernon looked at Harry in the rearview again. Harry nodded.

"The media these days," Vernon grumbled. "This country is going to the dogs. Those reporters think they can just write whatever they want about anyone! That's called libel! That woman deserves a big fat lawsuit, in my opinion..."

Harry and Dudley nodded along in all the right places as Uncle Vernon settled into a comfortable rant that lasted them the rest of the drive home. As they dragged their trunks up the stairs to their respective rooms, Harry caught Dudley's eye.

"Did you know he'd been getting the Prophet?" he asked.

Dudley shrugged. "He's been getting it delivered since summer of last year. Dad likes to keep up on the news, and it gives us stuff to talk about in our letters. He was pretty interested in the Tournament."

"Right," Harry said, shifting his owl's cage so that he could get his door open. "Right."

* * *

Uncle Vernon did indeed read both the muggle and wizarding newspapers over breakfast every morning. Harry only began to regret this a couple days into the holiday, when Uncle Vernon started choking on his bacon halfway through the meal. He had just picked up the Prophet.

Harry looked up with a sense of dread. Dudley had already leaned over to glance at the paper, and Harry's suspicions were confirmed when Dudley went pale.

"Dad," he said, and took the paper from a still coughing Vernon, and slapped his father on the back a couple times for good measure. Then Dudley peered down at the text, his eyes moving back and forth across the words, his frown deepening with every pass.

Harry shoved his seat back and stood. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Don't tell me," he said. "I don't want to know."

"You really don't," Dudley agreed. Uncle Vernon took the paper back and began reading, his face slowly going purple. That was an even worse sign. Harry had just turned around to leave the kitchen when they heard a loud squawk and then a lot of shouting coming from upstairs.

"Who-" Vernon stood, dropping the paper onto the table and glaring up at the ceiling.

Harry swore and ran up to his bedroom, making a brief detour to the bathroom. He'd left the window open. Sure enough, there was a pile of letters forming, and two of them had burst into flames already, screaming invective at his owl who huddled in his cage and screeched back at intervals.

_"-Slytherin scum! How dare you try to upset what we've worked so hard for? You have no right-"_

_"-attention seeking! I remember your record with the Dark Arts, too, don't think I've forgotten that-"_

_"-upstanding wizards and witches in our community! You disgust me-"_

_"-not worth the dirt in the soles of Dumbledore's boots! Disgraceful, childish-"_

Harry poured a cup of water over the first Howler, which quieted the shouts to more of an angry gurgle, then ran back to the bathroom for more water.

_"-parselmouths deserve to be Kissed, if you ask-"_

The second Howler fell to the floor in a sopping mess as well, and Harry let the cup slip from his grasp and fall to ground, staring around his room. There were a lot of letters. He always got letters when Skeeter wrote about him, but usually Blaise and Pansy helped him sort through the worst of them, and usually there weren't so many. Usually he could just ignore them all. A bit of smoke floating up from a pile at the end of his bed sent him back to the bathroom. There would be no ignoring these.

* * *

"Well here's another one that believes you," Dudley said with optimism, several hours later. He and Harry had rooted out all the Howlers, and were now sitting on the floor in his room, trying to make some sense of the pile. He would have just chucked the entire lot in the bin, but there had been a furiously sympathetic (but mostly furious) letter from Pansy in the first pile. There might be more from people he actually wanted to communicate with. Dudley did insist on opening them all, though.

"Well," Dudley paused and continued skimming the letter. "They believe Dumbledore, anyway."

"Put it in the pile," Harry said, and rubbed his eyes. That was twenty six from people who believed Dumbledore but still thought Harry was untrustworthy Slytherin scum. There had been three that actually supported Harry so far, and one of those was from Pansy.

Dudley ripped open a new letter. "This one is... a Slytherin."

Harry groaned. Those were often the worst.

"And she says...well." Dudley dropped it in the steadily growing 'Slytherins who hate Harry' pile. It was separate from the other pile of letters from people who hated Harry, mostly because of the particular brand of invective they usually contained, and because Harry thought it might be useful to keep track of his enemies within the House. It seemed like something Pansy and Blaise would have him do.

"This one supports you! And they want you to come visit!" Dudley frowned at it. "That's kind of... oh, it's from Neville. He says I'm invited too!"

Harry reached a hand out for the letter, which Dudley handed over dutifully. Harry skimmed it and smiled a bit. It was nice seeing words directed at him that weren't hateful, after all the sorting they'd been doing that morning.

"He wants us to visit next week," Harry said, let down. "Dumbledore said we can't leave until after my birthday, because of the wards."

A few wizards had dropped by a couple nights ago, Remus and Dumbledore included, and updated the wards to work with Dudley's contribution instead of Aunt Petunia's. It had been interesting to watch them work, but the upshot of it all was that the wards wouldn't be stable enough for either of them to leave the house for anything longer than a shopping trip until at least the end of the month.

Harry reached up to set Neville's letter on the desk and picked up another. This one was thick, and written on particularly fine parchment. He flipped it over to break the seal and froze. The Malfoy crest gleamed up at him from the wax, and Harry stared at it for a long moment.

"Hey, this one says you... never mind."

Harry reached under his desk for the bin and chucked the letter in, seal unbroken. If Dudley noticed, he said nothing.

The next letter writer wanted to make sure that Harry was one hundred percent clear on exactly how supportive they were of Harry drowning himself in a vat of bobotuber pus.

* * *

From what Harry could gather from the letters he received (having not read this most recent Skeeter article), she had basically recounted the events following Harry's return on the Knight Bus, including Harry's claim that Voldemort had been resurrected. If she expressed any belief that Harry was telling the truth, her readers hadn't picked up on it. Most of them made it sound like she'd painted him as an attention craving, Dark Arts obsessed maniac.

Harry would believe it, coming from her.

So whenever Harry woke abruptly from some unpleasant memory-turned-nightmare and found himself staring around at piles of parchment inscribed with hatred, he would pull out his Map, which he had activated on the train and never turned off, and he would look for her.

She was still at Hogwarts, presumably still stuck. She spent a lot of time on the grounds and in the higher towers. Harry wondered how she was managing to stay hidden during the summer. It wasn't as though she could exactly hide in a crowd when the school wasn't even in use.

It was on one of these late nights, staring at the Map, that it hit him. Sirius had said it himself. He couldn't come or go without Dumbledore's permission because of Snuffles. And Rita couldn't come and go at all. Harry somehow doubted she was about to ask Dumbledore's permission. She had to be keeping it a secret.

Harry remembered the whole situation with Sirius and Pettigrew and his father having unregistered animagus forms, and how angry Snape had been. He was sure someone had said it was illegal, not registering.

Harry pulled his blankets off and stumbled over to his desk, switching on the small lamp. Loki was gone for the night, hunting, but he would be back soon. Harry pulled a fresh sheet of parchment out of a drawer and uncorked a bottle of ink. He spent a minute searching for a quill and eventually gave up, turning instead to his trunk.

He found the scrap of parchment in one of his old Charms textbooks, and crept downstairs to the kitchen. It was late, but this was urgent. He picked up the receiver and dialled carefully. The phone rang for a long time before a woman finally answered.

"Hello?" she asked. Half a second later, another, equally sleepy voice chimed in.

"Hello?"

"Hermione?" Harry asked. The first voice responded.

"Hermione, dear, it's for you."

"Thanks, mum."

There was a click on Hermione's end.

"Harry, why are you calling me at two thirty in the morning?"

"I'm sorry," he responded in a whisper. "I have to ask you a question. It's important."

There was a pause. "Well?" she prompted.

"I wanted to know if you knew how to check the animagus registry," Harry said, glancing at the doorway to the kitchen. It didn't sound like anyone was awake upstairs, and he didn't want to change that. Uncle Vernon wouldn't take kindly to late night calls, however vital.

"I- yes. Er, Harry," Hermione began. "Don't get me wrong. If you need to talk, call me, any time. But couldn't this have waited until morning?"

"No," Harry hissed. "I was thinking. Skeeter is stuck on the grounds, right? Sirius said Dumbledore put up wards last year for Pettigrew, and now Sirius can't cross the wards without Dumbledore's permission! Because of his animagus form!"

"You think Skeeter is an animagus?" Hermione's voice was intrigued now. "Oh, that would make so much sense! I don't remember seeing her name on the list; I'll check again and get back to you! That's highly illegal!"

Harry grinned. "It's perfect, is what it is. If we're right, she won't be writing anything about me for a long time."

"Do you mean to turn her in, or blackmail her?"

"I haven't decided yet," Harry said, walking as far as the cord of the phone would let him and leaning against the table. "Probably blackmail."

"I'll get back to you as soon as I can," Hermione promised. "Harry, I hope you're right."

"Me too," Harry said. They talked a few minutes longer, but eventually Hermione claimed exhaustion and they said goodbye.

Harry went back to bed and managed to get to sleep with minimal fuss. When he woke up, the sun was shining in his window. He'd managed to sleep through the rest of the night.

* * *

There were more articles about Harry over the course of the next week, not all of them written by Skeeter. Skeeter's were the ones that really caused an influx of mail, though.

Uncle Vernon read through each article, which upset Harry terribly. For some reason, having his friends read lies about him was one thing, but having Uncle Vernon see what elaborate new story Skeeter could spin about his insanity, his sociopathic tendencies, or his insatiable desire to corrupt the innocent was mortifying. Uncle Vernon's opinion of him was a question at best, and Harry could only imagine what he must be thinking of it all.

So when Uncle Vernon called Harry into the kitchen one night after dinner and Harry saw all the newspaper spread out over the table, he felt like sinking through the floor.

"Dudley said this woman was making up lies about you," Uncle Vernon said, his moustache twitching as he sifted through the papers. "But I'll tell you what, boy. She seems to know an awful lot about you for someone who's making everything up. I want the truth."

Harry sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. "She-"

"Dark magic?" Uncle Vernon said, pushing one of the articles toward Harry. "Dudley told me what that means, and I won't tolerate that kind of freakishness in my house."

Harry looked up at him. "I don't do dark magic," he exclaimed. "She's making that up."

"This snake language," Uncle Vernon said, shoving another article at Harry. "The papers say it's dark magic. Dudley said himself that you talk to snakes."

"I, but no," Harry said, feeling cornered. "It's not dark magic, it's just a language-"

Uncle Vernon sifted through the pile and ripped another article out from under the others. His face was beginning to turn red, which was always a bad sign.

"And this one says you were covered in blood and saying someone returned from the dead," he blustered. "That sounds like necromancy if I ever heard it, boy! I won't have it!"

Harry felt his breath start coming in short. "But I didn't- That wasn't my- They tried to-"

"And the papers, not just that woman, mind you, but all the writers, have been saying your House, what's it called, Slythern? That it's the House where dark wizards are trained!" Uncle Vernon stood up and shoved another article at Harry. "Is that what my money is paying for?"

Harry shook his head as he stared down at the article, wondering frantically where Dudley had gotten off to.

"That's not true," he said, feeling tears prick at his eyes. "Slytherin is just another House. People just don't like us because the Dark Lord was in Slytherin. That's not my fault!"

Uncle Vernon stared at him with a narrow expression.

"Dudley's a good boy. And he insists you're not doing any of those things," he said. "I want to believe him." He leaned forward over the table and met Harry's eyes directly. "But if I get one _whiff_ of trouble coming from you, or if I find out you've been teaching my boy anything... dark... you'll be out of this house so fast it'll make your head spin. Do you understand me?"

Harry swallowed hard and nodded, still gripping the article.

"Yes," he said. "But I promise I'm not, Uncle Vernon." He stared down at all the newsprint and felt his shoulders slump. The articles nearly covered the table entirely, there were so many. Seeing it all laid out like this was daunting and disheartening.

Uncle Vernon watched him stare at the newspapers for another moment, then nodded his head briskly.

"Good," he said. "As long as we understand each other."

He gathered up all the articles, including the one Harry was holding, and tossed them all in the bin. Harry watched uncertainly as Uncle Vernon took the whole bin outside to empty it, then came back, replaced the liner, and left the kitchen with no further comment.

Harry sat at the kitchen table until it was time to go to bed.

* * *

It turned out that Harry had been right. Skeeter wasn't on the list of registered animagi, and after conferring with Pansy, Blaise and Hermione through various modes of communication, they all agreed that it was the most likely explanation. The only question at this point was how to exploit their new found knowledge.

"Harry," Dudley picked up the extension one morning when Harry was on the phone with Hermione, debating the merits of sending an owl to Skeeter versus tracking her down when they returned to Hogwarts. "Hey Hermione," Dudley said.

"Hi, Dudley," Hermione responded. "How have you been?"

"Alright," Dudley said. "Harry, Dad's getting ready for work and he said to get the door."

Harry raised his eyebrow at the telephone. He had heard the doorbell, but assumed Uncle Vernon or Dudley would get it like they usually did.

"He told you to do it, didn't he?"

"Well yeah," Dudley said. "But I'm upstairs. You're in the front room. Closer to the door."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Be right back, Hermione," he said.

"No problem," Dudley said. "I'll keep her company."

Harry heard Hermione laugh as he set the receiver down on the end table and went into the hallway.

Harry opened the door, expecting the postman or some kind of solicitor, or perhaps a neighbour. He was wrong on all counts.

Aunt Petunia stood in the doorway, holding a small suitcase and looking huddled and pinched.

"I..." Harry stared at her. "I, er...Aunt Petunia."

"Hello, Harry," she said. She sounded strained and terribly awkward. "Has Vernon left for work yet?"

Harry blinked a few times before responding. "I think... let me check." Harry closed the door and stared at it, letting his face go slack with shock now that she couldn't see him. He went into the front room first and picked up the phone, interrupting the conversation Dudley and Hermione were having about Hogsmeade.

"Hermione, we're going to have to call you back," he said. "Dudley, get Uncle Vernon."


	2. The Aunt

"Harry, what's going on?" Dudley followed Harry down the hall to the bathroom, frowning. "Who was at the door?"

Harry glanced at him, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. "Uncle Vernon!"

Uncle Vernon stepped out of the bathroom, tie still slung over his shoulder. He was holding a comb, which he stuck in his back pocket when he saw Harry and Dudley.

"You need to come downstairs. Someone's at the door for you."

Something must have shown on Harry's face, because instead of blustering, Uncle Vernon just nodded and followed them.

"It's," Harry paused, but he couldn't let Dudley and Uncle Vernon open the door blind. "Well, it's Aunt Petunia. At the door."

Uncle Vernon paused on the staircase for half a second. "Petunia?" he repeated. Dudley's eyes went wide, and he practically picked Harry up in his haste to get past him as he barrelled down the stairs.

"Dad, it's mum!" Dudley said as he reached the door. The call snapped Uncle Vernon out of his uncertainty, and he pounded down the stairs after Dudley. Harry took a moment to be glad he didn't live in the cupboard anymore. It would have taken hours for the dust to settle after all this stomping. Harry proceeded down the steps at a much more hesitant pace.

Dudley pulled the door open before Uncle Vernon could stop him, and his face lit up when he saw his mother.

"Mum, you came back!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Did you get my letters? Why didn't you ever respond? I missed you!"

Aunt Petunia, who had taken a small step back when the door opened, smiled a shaky sort of smile at Dudley and looked past him.

"Diddykins," she said, though she was looking at Uncle Vernon. "Mummy and Daddy need to talk, sweetums."

Dudley continued to stare at her with cow eyes, though he stepped aside.

"Ah," Uncle Vernon coughed. "I suppose you should come in, Petunia."

* * *

After Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen and shut the door behind them, Dudley glared at Harry, who stepped back without being asked, hands raised, and let Dudley listen at the keyhole. He took the crack at the bottom of the door as usual, and they listened.

"...your son," Uncle Vernon was saying. Harry watched his feet as they paced the linoleum.

"I know," Petunia said. "But I was wrong, Vernon. I was so wrong. I want to make amends. I want my family back."

"What you wrote-" Uncle Vernon began. His voice was gruff, and he cleared his throat several times. "Petunia, what you wrote... the things you said about him!"

"I know, Vernon, and I was wrong!" Aunt Petunia's feet crossed the linoleum, her heels clicking with agitation. She came to a stop in front of Uncle Vernon's wingtips. "I don't feel that way anymore, Vernon. I've changed, I promise."

Harry glanced up at Dudley. He may not have read the letter Aunt Petunia had left, but he had to have some idea of what they were talking about. But Dudley's face was unusually impassive. Harry couldn't figure out what he might be thinking until he glanced down and caught Harry's eye. The raw hope and anxiety Harry saw made him look away, embarrassed.

"It'll be just like it was before," Petunia promised in a soft voice. "I've missed you so much, darling."

Uncle Vernon was silent for an interminable moment. Harry glanced up at Dudley again, who was burning a hole through the wood panelling with his stare.

Finally, Uncle Vernon answered. "I've missed you too, Pet."

Dudley let out a whooping shout and burst through the door, barely giving Harry time to scramble out of the way to avoid being trampled. Harry climbed to his feet and brushed himself off as he stumbled back toward the staircase, watching through the doorway as the three Dursleys had their reunion.

'Just like it was before' sounded great, for everyone but Harry.

* * *

It took Harry several days to get used to coming around a corner and seeing Aunt Petunia, dusting the mantelpiece or baking biscuits. Harry couldn't figure out how to interact with her now. It had been an unspoken assumption made by Uncle Vernon, Dudley and Harry that Harry was in charge of the brunt of the chores over the holiday. Harry didn't exactly look forward to it, but it wasn't surprising. Now, though, Harry would go into the kitchen to mop the floor and find it sparkling already. He'd finally motivate himself to get started on the laundry, only to find it folded and ironed, waiting only to be put away.

It was strange. Even when Aunt Petunia had lived with them, Harry had done the majority of the housework. This wasn't 'just like before'. This was something else entirely. Harry almost felt like she was infringing on his place in the house, which was an absurd notion that he ignored as best he could. He didn't mind at _all_ if Aunt Petunia wanted to scrub the molding in the bathtub. More power to her. Harry had more time to do his own thing now, like write letters to his friends, talk with Hermione and Dudley, sort through the nasty letters in his room, do his summer homework, lie on his back and stare at the ceiling after a nightmare...

It was just strange, that's all.

"Harry!"

This was strange, too.

Harry walked into the kitchen where Aunt Petunia was wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Harry- oh, there you are," she said, and smiled at him. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like for you to keep an eye on the wash. It should be finished soon, and I want it hung out to dry before it wrinkles."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said.

"I'll be upstairs doing a bit of tidying up before your uncle gets home," she said, straightening the pleats of her housedress. "Call me when the oven timer beeps, would you, dear?"

"Er, yeah, okay," Harry said, and leaned over to peek at the turkey through the oven window. "No problem." She beamed at him and bustled out of the kitchen, humming.

Harry went back into the living room and lugged his school bag into the kitchen. He and Dudley had made a habit of doing their summer homework at the kitchen table while Uncle Vernon was at work, and Aunt Petunia hadn't yet objected. She hadn't objected to anything at all, as a matter of fact.

Harry set up his quill and ink, frowning absently. He didn't like the way the house had felt since Aunt Petunia returned. He especially hated it when, like now, Uncle Vernon was at work and Dudley was off doing something with his old gang. Harry stayed inside when Dudley decided to hang out with Polkiss and that lot. Old habits die hard, and Harry didn't want to test the limits of Dudley's decency.

Point being, it was just Harry and Aunt Petunia in the house, and she was _still_ acting sugary sweet and treating Harry like a... like a...

Well.

Harry wasn't sure what he was being treated like. He wasn't being treated like the house servant, or an unwanted guest, at least. It was positively disconcerting. Pulling out his books and parchment, he straightened them out and stared down at his own handwriting, feeling his mouth twist.

What really grated at him was the question of _why_. Why had she come back, out of the blue? Why was she being so kind to Harry? Why was she suddenly okay with Dudley's magic, after she'd said all those awful things in her letter and ignored every attempt at communication from him? Why could Harry practically taste the tension in the house, when he couldn't spot it in anyone else's faces? Was it just Harry? Maybe he'd gotten too used to her being gone. Maybe he was being selfish. Maybe the Dursleys were happy, and Harry just couldn't handle it because of how miserable he'd been, lately.

He straightened his parchment again and nearly tipped the ink all over the table, only saving it at the very last second. Sighing, Harry capped the bottle and rubbed his eyes. The laundry buzzer went off, and Harry got up to take care of it. Once they finished the blackmailing of Skeeter, Harry would feel better. He'd sleep better, at least, without a new pile of nasty letters to sort through every week.

* * *

Uncle Vernon called Harry downstairs one day, just as Harry was finishing a letter to Pansy about Skeeter. The group of them had put together a missive for her explaining the situation, and her response had been immediate and grudging. Now was the time to make demands.

Harry signed the note to Pansy and left it to dry while he went downstairs.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were sitting in the front room, reading together. Uncle Vernon had his paper, and Aunt Petunia had one of her novels.

"Did you need something, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, leaning on the doorframe. Aunt Petunia beamed at him from her armchair.

"Could you check on the biscuits, Harry?" she asked. "If this batch is done, just put the next sheet in."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, trying to ignore how eerie he found it when she directed a smile at him.

"Lawn'll need mowing in the next few days," Uncle Vernon said, flipping to a new page of his paper. "See that it gets taken care of."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed. Aunt Petunia stayed out of the yard work, at least.

"And remind Dudders about the dinner tonight, if you see him," Uncle Vernon added. "You should both be dressed and ready by six."

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated, and went into the kitchen to check on the biscuits. Dudley was there, peering into the oven hopefully.

"Biscuits, Harry?" he asked, bouncing up and down a little. "Are they done yet?"

Harry grinned. "Don't know. These are for dessert, anyway."

"I just had lunch," Dudley shrugged. "Lunch can have dessert."

"Hang on." Harry opened the oven and prodded at the biscuits thoughtfully. "Get me an oven glove."

"Yes!" Dudley found the glove and handed it over. "Mum won't notice if one or two are missing."

"Like you thought I wouldn't notice if you ate one of the raw ones?" One of the rows of uncooked biscuits was indeed missing a pile of batter. Dudley was unrepentant.

"I've missed mum's biscuits," he said cheerfully. "Go on, let's have one."

"Don't touch, they're hot," Harry said, tipping them one by one on to the cooling rack. "They'll fall apart, and I'm not getting blamed for the mess." He used the spatula to lever one into Dudley's waiting hands instead.

"Ah, damn," Dudley tossed the biscuit from palm to palm, blowing on it.

"Oh, Uncle Vernon said we need to be ready by six tonight for the dinner," Harry remembered, watching as Dudley stuffed half the biscuit in his mouth at once and chased it with a glass of milk.

"Sure," Dudley said, panting. "I think I just burned the roof of my mouth."

"Oh, Harry-" Aunt Petunia swept into the kitchen and stopped when she saw Dudley. "Dudley, darling, there you are. Your father wants you to be ready for dinner tonight before six, sweetums."

Dudley gave her a nod and a close-lipped smile, which didn't do much to hide the biscuit crumbs on his chin.

"Harry, how is the roast looking?"

Harry put the second sheet of biscuits in the oven and eyed the roast on the middle rack while he was there. "It's been about an hour. Do you want me to add the-"

"No, no, I'll get it." She took the oven glove from him and bent over to look inside herself. "You two run off and play."

"Okay, come on, Harry," Dudley said, heading for the front room. "We should play wizard chess. I'm getting better!"

Harry almost missed it. If he hadn't glanced up at that exact moment, he would have. But he did, and Aunt Petunia's disgust reflected garishly in the oven's stainless steel backsplash.

"Have fun, dear," she called, and her voice betrayed nothing but good cheer. Harry stared for a moment longer at her reflection, calm again as she straightened the rows of biscuits on the cooling rack.

* * *

Harry spent a lot of time in his bedroom over the next couple days, sorting through the most recent additions to his letter mountain. Things with Skeeter were going well, and he hoped to be rid of the constant influx of mail soon. In the meantime, he had stopped opening anything from anyone he didn't know. Dudley did the majority of the sorting these days, and Harry read only the ones Dudley marked as not being explicitly hateful, or from an actual friend.

Sifting through a pile of his pre-screened letters, Harry found a note from Blaise. He opened it immediately, hoping for more insight into Skeeter's last letter.

 _Harry,_ it said. _Pansy and I agree that you've definitely got the advantage right now, and Skeeter knows it. You need to send this out as soon as possible. Your draft is enclosed, along with a few notes..._

Blaise detailed a few more suggestions which Harry nodded over, but the next paragraph made him pause.

_I don't want to get involved with the situation between you and Draco any more than I have to, so I'm only going to say this once._

Harry scowled, but read on.

_Draco asked me to confirm that you've at least been receiving his letters, even if you won't respond. I assumed you were chucking them in the bin, honestly-_

Harry glanced at the bin under his desk, which contained at least three letters with the Malfoy crest, unopened.

_-but I'm not going to tell Draco that, even if you want me to. He's sorry. He's having screaming fights with his father over you, and he spends most of his time in the floo with Pansy and I. He's miserable. I'm not saying you should forgive him. I'm just asking you to read his bloody letters._

There wasn't much left to Blaise's note, as though he had (correctly) assumed that Harry wouldn't finish it after reading that entreaty. Harry tossed the letter on his bed, where it teetered in a gust from the window and fell on a stack of hateful Slytherin notes. Harry stared at the pile, his face set, and determinedly started rooting through the unopened letters again. He thought he might have one from Sirius. He'd written about the Aunt Petunia situation, and he hoped Sirius would have some insight.

He tossed a bulky envelope into the 'risky' pile in the far corner of the room, and picked up another one. It took him a second to realise what the expensive parchment and elaborate seal meant. Dudley knew better than to put Draco's letters in the 'to read' pile, but he always did it anyway, because he was a prat.

Harry flipped the letter across the room like a frisbee, still feeling unsettled by Blaise's words and too upset to deal with it at the moment. Blaise could make Harry feel guilty for breathing if he wanted to, and Harry didn't want to feel guilty about this. He had every right in the world to not respond to Draco's letters.

Harry rubbed his eyes as the letter sailed through the air on a breeze, straight out the open window. He ran his hand through his hair and stared at the spot where the letter had disappeared.

"Well, damn," he muttered. He couldn't leave it outside in the front garden where anyone could find it.

He stood, plucking Blaise's letter out of the wrong pile and dropping it on his desk next to Stormageddon's cage. His owl hooted at him from his perch, and Harry patted him fondly as he passed on the way to the window.

Ducking his head out, he peered around at the grass below for the square of parchment. It had landed in the neighbor's azaleas. Harry groaned. There would be no getting it later. Privet Drive was a notoriously nosy neighborhood, and next door was a prime example. They'd open it in a heartbeat if they found it.

The Dursleys were all in the front room, watching the telly, so Harry ducked out through the kitchen door and went around. The letter was resting precariously on top of the azalea bush, and the least disruptive way to reach it was through the Dursley's hydrangeas. Harry managed to get to the letter with minimal fuss as the neighbors weren't out and about. Harry was good at crawling through bushes.

He sat under the hydrangeas, flipping the letter over and over in his hands, staring absently at the veins on the underside of the leaves in front of him.

What would reading it do, really? Aside from distressing Harry more? He didn't want to think about Draco at all. It inevitably led to thinking about Draco's father, and what he'd said in the graveyard, which was awful enough, but then _that_ led to thinking about what had happened in the graveyard, and that led to worse nightmares than usual. The articles in the Prophet and the resultant mail were bad enough. Harry didn't want to think about any of it. Avoiding Draco, who had rejected him months and months ago anyway, was the best way to do that.

On the way back inside, Harry tossed the letter in the bin.

* * *

Harry's birthday started out well. He got a letter from Skeeter, acquiescing to his demands (one year without publishing anything, in return for Harry's silence). There were also letters and presents from Neville, Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, Luna, Anthony, and even the Weasleys. The letter from the Weasleys seemed to mostly be from Fred and George, who also enclosed a small box of pranks, though Ron was noted as wishing him a happy birthday too. The closing was somewhat ominous: 'See you very very soon!'

Harry received a letter from Sirius and Remus as well, which instantly made Fred and George's letter less alarming. It was an invitation for him (and Dudley, if he was allowed) to come visit in two weeks' time. Sirius owned a house in London, and the group that supported Dumbledore and believed Harry (or believed that Dumbledore believed Harry, to Harry's reckoning) was using it as a headquarters. The Weasleys would undoubtedly be there as well, judging by the twins' letter.

Also enclosed was a package, which, according to Sirius, Remus had not allowed him to withhold in the hopes of further encouraging Harry to visit, because, "Remus has no sense of fun."

Harry penned a note back immediately, thanking Sirius and Remus for the invitation and the Kestrels poster, which was signed by Aidan Kiely, the Seeker. There was another note attached to the poster, promising that next time they went to a game, Harry could come too instead of just getting a souvenir, though he saw absolutely nothing wrong with his present. He grinned over it and decided not to hang it up just yet, as he'd hopefully be on his way to London soon anyway.

"We've been invited to visit, er, the Weasleys," Harry told Dudley over breakfast, stumbling when he remembered Uncle Vernon's feelings about convict godfathers. "In two weeks, actually. They're staying in London."

Dudley made a thoughtful face over his kippers. "Maybe," he said. Harry gaped at him. "No, I mean, you should go for sure if you want," Dudley added. "But I don't know if I will. Mum only just got back." He smiled at her, and she responded without missing a beat. The more Harry thought about it, the more he wasn't sure what he'd seen in the kitchen that day. Maybe it really was all in his head.

"I don't want to keep you from your friends, darling," Aunt Petunia said. "You should go if you want to."

"No," Dudley said decisively. "I'll stay. Have fun, Harry!"

After breakfast, Harry finished and sent off his letter to Sirius. He also penned a few letters to his friends, thanking them for his presents. In fact, the day continued on in an almost idyllic fashion, at least until he went out into the back garden after lunch.


	3. The Trainwreck

It was later on in the garden when things took a turn for the worse.

Harry was sitting on the bench, idly watching the birds as Aunt Petunia selected some flowers for the front room. It was a nice day out, and Harry was enjoying the fact that it really had been a good birthday so far. Dudley had even convinced Aunt Petunia to bake Harry a cake, which was possibly the most surreal thing that had happened since the summer began. It wasn't that Dudley wanted Harry to have cake. Cake was cake to Dudley's eye, and anyway, Dudley had instigated birthday celebrations for Harry since they started at Hogwarts together. What was weird was how easily Aunt Petunia had acquiesced.

Harry still couldn't get used to this new dynamic, but just for today, he decided not to worry about it.

As Harry chewed on these thoughts, an owl came winging over the rooftops with a letter in its beak. It alighted on the stone bench next to Harry and dropped the letter in his lap with a hoot, then shifted, staring around the garden.

Harry frowned at the letter, wondering what it could be. Usually the angry letters came in multitudes, and in response to something in the paper. There had been no particularly incendiary articles about Harry lately, especially not today, and especially not since Harry explained the situation to Skeeter.

There wasn't a sender marked on the parchment, and there was no seal. Harry flipped it over once, frowned at it, and decided to risk it.

 _Harry,_ it said. _I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, even if you don't want to hear from me. I'm really sorry, I-_

Harry crumpled the parchment up, good mood ruined. It was obvious from the handwriting who it was from, even if Harry hadn't read a word. He swallowed hard and tossed the parchment in the grass in front of him, slumping down in his seat and crossing his arms. He had hoped he wouldn't have to have to think about all that today. He hadn't even had a nightmare last night. He considered getting up and leaving the parchment there in the grass, but before he could make a decision, his thoughts were interrupted by a shout.

"Oh Lord!" Aunt Petunia had turned away from her gardening and spotted the owl, dropping her flowers. She stepped back into the flower bed and crushed a patch of daisies, but she hardly noticed. Her hand was pressed to her heart and just for a second, her expression was filled with distress and a small measure of the disgust Harry had seen in the kitchen a couple weeks ago. "Get it away, " she said to Harry, waving her scissors at the bird.

Harry stood up and waved the bird away with a hand, staring at Aunt Petunia with narrowed eyes. She was grimacing and picking up her flowers now, trying to arrange them to avoid further bruising.

"What was _that_?" Harry asked, taking a step forward. She smiled up at him, suddenly calm again.

"It caught me by surprise, dear, that's all. Don't leave that paper on the ground when you go inside."

Harry glared down at the letter from Draco, then back up at Aunt Petunia. "You still hate it all, don't you? You still can't stand Dudley because he has magic. I've seen how you look at him when you think no one's watching."

Aunt Petunia's face fell, and she stared down at her flowers silently, jaw tight. Harry felt himself getting angry.

"Why are you even here?" Harry asked, taking another step toward her. "If you can't even deal with an _owl_ , if you think Dudley's a _freak_ , then why would you come back to-"

"I don't think he's a freak," Aunt Petunia said, and now the distress was back, worse than before. "He's my son. I love him."

Harry scoffed. "You've been treating _me_ better than him, since you got here."

"I love him," Aunt Petunia repeated, in a stronger voice. "I do. That's why I came back. I'm worried for him."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why now? Why not when he was sending you all those letters, or in second year when he had that stupid journal, or-"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn't returned then!" Aunt Petunia exclaimed in a shrill voice. She clutched her flowers closer, mouth pinched. Harry stared at her.

"How would you know about that?" he asked.

"I know how to listen," she said, grimacing. "And I know the signs. Lily always used to say you had to read between the lines when it came to the wizarding world _._ "

Harry rubbed his forehead. The casual mention of his mother was almost as baffling as the rest.

"It isn't safe anymore," she continued, wrapping her arms around herself. "That... that man wrote us a letter when he left you on our doorstep. He said that if I was here, if Lily's blood was here to protect you, then this house would be safe."

"Dudley has our blood too," Harry said, watching her. "In fact, Dumbledore updated the wards. We don't need you here anymore."

Aunt Petunia's shoulders stiffened, and her hands tightened around her upper arms. She wouldn't meet his eye.

"You came back because you were afraid for yourself," Harry accused. He felt sick, suddenly. "You weren't worried about any of us. You weren't worried about Dudley."

"I love my son," Petunia repeated, lifting her chin. "I love my family."

"Sure," Harry said. "But not enough to be anywhere near them unless you knew it was the only way out of danger."

Aunt Petunia fell silent, still shaking her head. Harry turned away in disgust and crossed the garden to the back door.

"Please don't say those things to Vernon or Dudley," she said, before he could even touch the handle. "I don't want you to hurt them with this."

"You just don't want them to boot you out," Harry said, scowling. She looked at him beseechingly, arms still wrapped around her torso, and Harry relented a bit. "Fine, I won't say anything for now. But I think you're awful."

He slammed the door as he went inside, and spent the rest of the day in his room, fuming. When Dudley managed to force him downstairs later that night for cake, he and Aunt Petunia could hardly look at each other.

Harry couldn't wait until it was time to leave for London.

* * *

The tension Harry had noticed before his birthday became positively tangible after that, especially when he and aunt Petunia were in the same room. At least Harry wasn't the only one who felt it anymore.

Dudley was spending as much time as he could with his mother now that she'd returned. They were always watching the telly or going to the shops together, where she would buy him video games and fashionable new muggle clothing. It was rare that Dudley's old gang managed to drag him away, though aunt Petunia encouraged him to go play with his friends just like she used to before she left.

She seemed genuine when it was just her and Dudley, and Harry felt himself faltering sometimes. Maybe he was wrong. Or at the very least, maybe he'd been too harsh. She might really be trying to get over her fears.

Harry broke down about a week after his birthday, and decided he needed to get away from Number Four for a couple hours. The embargo on leaving the house for extended periods would still allow him a trip to the park for a while. As he walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, he heard the sounds of Dudley and Aunt Petunia in the dining room, playing Scrabble.

"Crup," Dudley said proudly over the clacking of his tiles. Harry raised his eyebrows and slowed down as he passed the doorway. Aunt Petunia was blinking at the board, her expression conflicted and uncomfortable, as though she knew she'd regret asking. He left them to it, striding past the dining room and out the front door, determined to let aunt Petunia sink or swim on her own.

He stayed at the park, just enjoying the fresh air and the quiet until the sun touched the top of the trees and until Dudley came looking for him.

"You've been out for a while-" he began, leaning on the back of Harry's bench. Harry sighed and stood up.

"I know. I just wanted some quiet. Let's go."

They set off for Number Four together, watching the windows flash orange as the sun set behind them.

"Mum and I are going to London next week," Dudley said. "I reckon if you can go visit your godfather, I can leave too, right?"

"Makes sense," Harry agreed, rubbing his arms. It was getting chilly out rapidly, with the sun setting. "What are you going to do?"

Dudley launched into a detailed description of his plans, which mostly involved spending a lot of money, from what Harry could tell. It all sounded pretty bland, and Harry couldn't help but wish he was anywhere but Privet Drive, with anyone but aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon and Dudley. He wished his parents were still alive. He wished Draco's family wasn't ready to kill him at the slightest provocation. He wished...

They had just turned the corner at Privet Drive and Cypress Court when they realized the danger.

Harry was kicking a rock in front of him and nodding occasionally at Dudley's monologue, so Dudley spotted it first. Grabbing Harry's arm, he cut himself off mid sentence.

"What's that?"

They sun had set behind the houses already, and the pinks and purples were already draining out of the sky. Harry had to squint through the gathering darkness to see what Dudley was pointing at. It was a hooded figure, and it had just left Magnolia Crescent a couple streets away from them and turned in their direction.

"Dudley." Harry suddenly noticed the seizing cold in his chest and grabbed Dudley's sleeve so that they were gripping each other. He pulled Dudley toward the houses. "We don't want to find out, trust me. Come on."

Dudley followed dutifully, and Harry's mind clattered through ideas as they jogged back to Number Four. The cold, the dark thoughts, the hooded figure. It couldn't be. What would a dementor be doing on Privet Drive?

"Harry!" Dudley, who had been glancing back at the hooded figure as they moved, had caught on, and his voice was hushed with terror. "Harry, it's a dementor!"

Harry pulled out his wand, watching Dudley do the same with shaking hands. "Dudley, run."

Dudley's eye caught on Harry's wand. "You have to run too!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry grabbed Dudley's wrist again and pulled him along at a much faster speed, ignoring the way his breath caught in his chest and the white cloud of exhale as he spat out, "Obviously!"

Together they fled for Number Four, sprinting flat out. As they neared the house, Harry saw aunt Petunia on the front porch, putting out the milk bottles.

She had already spotted them tearing toward her with their wands out. Her reaction wasn't encouraging. Having straightened up and put a hand to her mouth, she backed through the front door and gripped the wood tightly.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry called, and that seemed to do it for her. She slammed the door on them as they reached the garden gate. Harry yelled her name again and hit the door full on, pounding on it with his fists. Dudley arrived behind him a second later and tried the handle, to no avail.

"Mum, let us in! It's us, please!"

"Aunt Petunia, hurry!"

Harry glanced behind him and saw the dementor flying past Number Two toward them. He turned and hammered on the door again.

"Let us in! Aunt Petunia, let us IN! It's an emergency!"

The door opened to reveal Uncle Vernon, frowning down at them. "What-"

Harry and Dudley shoved past him and slammed the door shut. Dudley locked it and ran over to the window to check that the dementor really _couldn't_ get past the wards while Harry made a beeline for the phone.

"Hello?"

"What's going on?" Uncle Vernon demanded. Dudley turned away from the window to explain.

"Hermione!" Harry swallowed and lowered his voice. "Hermione, we need help!"

"Harry? What's happened? Are you alright?"

"No! There's a dementor here. At Privet Drive! What do I do?"

"Dementors, dad!" Dudley cried when uncle Vernon persisted in his questioning. "They're huge, cloaked, floating monsters that make everything cold and awful and if one catches you, it takes away all your happy memories and then sucks out your soul, and there's one outside right now!"

Uncle Vernon's skeptical bluster in response died quickly when he realized even Aunt Petunia seemed scared.

The silence on the other end of the line wasn't encouraging. Harry glanced out the window and couldn't see the dementor. "Contact the Aurors," she said finally. "The spell for emergencies is _adiumentum_ , cast it out a window if you can."

Harry ran to the back of the house and opened the window onto the back garden. "Adiumentum," he cried. Silver sparks flew from his wand and rushed into the sky, disappearing almost instantly. Uncle Vernon shouted something indistinctly from the front hall, but Harry ignored him.

Harry shut the window firmly and went back into the living room to pick up the phone.

"Now what?"

"You're supposed to get a response soon," Hermione said. "Then you can-"

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, what is your emergency?"

Harry dropped the phone and stared around the room for the source of the voice. "H-hello?"

"What is your emergency, sir?"

Harry rallied, still searching the room. "There's a dementor outside our house! In a muggle area!"

"A dementor?" The woman sounded highly skeptical.

"Yes," Harry said, finally spotting a hazy reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. Uncle Vernon had come into the room and was watching the process with an unreadable expression. Aunt Petunia was still in the front hall, not having moved since Harry and Dudley burst into the house.

The woman sighed. "The fine for fraudulent reports is fifty galleons, sir. What is your address?"

"I'm not lying!" Harry responded, annoyed. He gave the woman the address, and her reflection vanished from the mirror after advising him to stay inside.

"What's going on?" Uncle Vernon demanded, once he was certain Harry was finished speaking to the decor. Dudley answered for him.

"There was a dementor outside, Dad!" he repeated. "Harry called our police to send help!"

Harry peered through the netting, and though he couldn't see the dementor anymore, the chill in the air and the faint fog around the house was still alarmingly present. Having followed Harry to the window, Uncle Vernon huffed. "I don't see anything," he said.

"We're not making this up," Harry repeated, and glanced back at Dudley for confirmation just in time to see Aunt Petunia sidle past the door toward the kitchen. Anger boiled up in his chest. "And aunt Petunia slammed the door in our faces! We could have been Kissed!"

Aunt Petunia froze, and Dudley chimed in. "Mum, why'd you lock us out?"

"I, I didn't realize it was you, darling," she said, grasping the door frame. "It was dark. You were running and pointing something at me and I thought you were burglars."

"Burglars who call you 'mum' and 'aunt Petunia'?" Harry offered, glaring. She flinched.

"I saw the dementor," she explained, rubbing her arms, an anguished expression on her face. "I panicked!" She turned to Dudley. "I'm so sorry, darling."

Dudley, in an infuriating twist, seemed ready to accept his mother's story. Uncle Vernon looked moments away from sitting her down with a cup of tea. Harry piped up again.

"What did it look like?" Everyone turned to stare at him. "The dementor, I mean," he said, resisting the urge to take a step back. Even Dudley looked irritated at the question.

"It was enormous," she said after a brief pause. "It floated and it was wearing a long cloak. It was terrifying, and I'd rather not think about it any longer."

A knock on the door saved her from just that, as Harry was still skeptical.

He and Dudley pulled out their wands and peered through the glass to investigate. A tall, broad man stood waiting patiently on the step, and tipped Harry a nod and a solemn smile when he noticed him looking.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said by way of introduction, once Harry opened the door. "I was sent by the Auror office to investigate a dementor sighting." He folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward slightly. "I was also sent by Dumbledore to find out what happened to your usual guard."

Harry leaned his head to the right to look past Shacklebolt at the street.

"The dementor was gone even before I arrived," Shacklebolt explained. "Although there is no doubt at least one was present here tonight. Alerting the Aurors was the right thing to do."

Harry sighed, leaning against the door frame in his relief.

"What guard?" Dudley asked, also looking better for the news that the dementor had left. "Who was supposed to be here?"

"That would be Mungdungus Fletcher," Shacklebolt said. "Not that it's especially surprising that he's wandered off. He was never our most reliable person."

"So what happens now?" Harry asked, straightening up. "Er, you can come inside if you want."

Shacklebolt stepped through the doorway with another nod, pulling out his wand. "Now I check that your wards are stable and, assuming everything is in order, we come back to bring you to London in a couple days. We'll be investigating the dementor presence in Little Whinging as well, but I should have all I need from this side of things."

Aunt Petunia had disappeared into the kitchen at the knock on the door, and returned now with the tea service. "Thank you for coming," she said, setting the service down in the front room. "If you aren't in too much of a -"

She faltered upon getting a good look at Shacklebolt in the light. "- a... a hurry..."

She had a very strange expression on her face: one part slack surprise, one part budding anger, and two parts disbelief.

Shacklebolt's smile was apologetic. "I'm afraid I am in a hurry, but thank you for the offer," he said, and looked away, raising his wand and going about his work.

Aunt Petunia rallied admirably, her face taking on a polite, almost blank expression. "Of course, how silly of me," she said. "What did you say your name was again, sir? Was it Kenneth?"

Shacklebolt actually seemed uncomfortable. He had his back to her as he moved around the room, checking the wards. "Kingsley, actually, ma'am," he said.

"Oh, of course," Aunt Petunia trilled, putting a hand to her throat and laughing. Harry, Dudley, and uncle Vernon watched the exchange in silence, and Harry, at least, was fascinated. He'd heard his aunt fake laughter before, but this almost sounded more like she had broken glass in her throat. "My mistake. I suppose I met someone else by that name recently. You must remind me of him."

Shacklebolt was definitely avoiding eye contact, Harry realized suddenly. He was moving around the house, facing the walls the whole time, only acknowledging aunt Petunia's comments through nods.

"I should check the wards outside," Shacklebolt said, having moved through the entire downstairs, followed the whole time by the Dursleys and Harry. Uncle Vernon, at least, didn't seem to trust a stranger to wave a wand around in his house without supervision, as he'd followed Shacklebolt closely and suspiciously throughout the whole process. Harry didn't know about Dudley, but personally, he just wanted to know what aunt Petunia was so worked up about. "You should probably all stay in here, just to be safe," Shacklebolt recommended, and quickly closed the back door behind him.

"Petunia," Uncle Vernon said after a moment. "Who was that?"

So it wasn't just Harry who was curious. Good.

Aunt Petunia seemed more stressed than usual, which was saying something lately. "Just the policeman, Vernon, you heard Harry call for help." She gave him a very plastic smile and opened the door. "I just have a question or two for him. You should all stay in here, like he said. I'll be but a moment!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "That wasn't suspicious at all," he said, and received identical glares from Dudley and uncle Vernon for his trouble.

Uncle Vernon paced the kitchen restlessly, several times making aborted moves toward the doorway before stopping himself. Harry had never seen his uncle so uncertain. A shout from the back garden seemed to clinch it for him, and an expression of relief crossed his face before the more familiar puce of anger descended and he rushed out the door, snapping, "Stay here," over his shoulder as he went.

Harry and Dudley immediately scrambled to find a good vantage point from the windows.

"You lied to me!" Aunt Petunia was saying to Shacklebolt, who wasn't saying anything. In fact, aunt Petunia's carrying on was attracting neighbourly notice. Harry and Dudley weren't the only ones hanging out a window hoping for an earful. Shacklebolt had been forced to stop checking the wards, even, because of all the muggle attention.

"Petunia," Uncle Vernon said, staring at Shacklebolt with hard, piggy eyes. Harry and Dudley leaned further out the window to get a better view. "Who is this man?"

Shacklebolt stood in front of Harry's aunt and uncle, impatience beginning to push the embarrassment from his face.

"I am the man who is trying to ensure your family's safety," he said briskly, interrupting aunt Petunia's reply. "If I can be allowed to finish my job with no further distractions, that is. This is a discussion for later."

He managed to shoo them both back inside with an impressively small number of objections, mostly, it seemed, because his words caused aunt Petunia's ire to deflate completely.

Harry and Dudley exchanged a glance and hurried away from the window before they could be caught.

Once inside, aunt Petunia was quiet and withdrawn.

"Petunia." Uncle Vernon had not been anywhere near as cowed by the Auror as Petunia. In fact, he sounded more angry than before, since his question had now gone unanswered twice. "Who. Is. That. Man?"

"He's," she swallowed and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. "He's the man who made me realize I needed to come home," Petunia admitted, refusing to meet uncle Vernon's eyes.


	4. The Headquarters

The aunt Petunia fiasco, as Harry privately called it, did not improve in the days before Harry left for London. In fact, from Harry's perspective, things only became increasingly pear shaped.

Aunt Petunia's vague proclamation with regards to Shacklebolt only made her a more sympathetic figure to Dudley, who had gotten it into his head that Shacklebolt had somehow inadvertently saved his family by trying to seduce his mother while disguised as a muggle. His feelings about his mother were solid. His opinion on Shacklebolt, however, tended to vary.

Uncle Vernon, from what Harry could gather through his frequent and shameless eavesdropping sessions, was now far less concerned with why aunt Petunia had come home, and far more concerned with fixing both his marriage and his reputation in the neighbourhood.

Harry knew that if he said anything now, when everyone was so happy and relieved to be a family again, he'd be perceived as a vindictive liar who was trying to spoil everything. More to the point, he'd become the outsider again.

He tried hard not to bristle when he and aunt Petunia were in same room, and counted the days until he could leave. On the morning of his departure, he and Dudley said their goodbyes, and Harry spent the morning in his room, making extra sure he hadn't forgotten to pack anything.

The letters had died down to the point where Harry was able to see almost all of his bedroom floor, and even those piles were dwindling as they finished sorting. He binned most of them and stuffed the more significant letters into a shoebox, which he had packed in his trunk (which he'd packed into his expandable box, which he'd packed into a satchel) in preparation for his trip to London.

When the doorbell rang, Harry was already waiting in the hallway, ready with his bag and buckets of anticipation. He opened the door and grinned at Remus, who stood unassumingly on the doorstep holding one end of a leash. Harry's grin widened as Sirius whined low in his throat and nudged Harry's knee in greeting.

"I'm leaving, bye!" Harry called, shutting the door behind him and turning to Remus. "We're not driving again, are we?"

Remus smiled. "No, I'm afraid not. It's good to see you, Harry."

"Good to see you too," Harry said, scratching Sirius' ears and taking a deep breath of the summer air. "If we're not driving, how are we getting there?"

"We'll be using muggle transportation," Remus said as they strolled through the neighborhood. "Not exactly secure, but precautions have been taken, and it's unlikely that any of the more... unsavory characters looking for us will know how to navigate the Underground."

"Right," Harry said. "So we're taking a train to London? Because the Underground doesn't run in Surrey."

Remus blinked. "Well, obviously," he said, recovering admirably. "We'll just apparate and go from there."

They had strolled into the park near Privet Drive, and Remus let Sirius off his leash. He barked joyfully and dashed off into the foliage. Harry and Remus kept walking.

"What kind of precautions?" Harry asked as they passed a large bush, ignoring the rustling and swearing coming from its depths. Remus folded up the leash and stuck it in the pocket of his tweed coat.

"Well, if you look closely, you'll notice the many and varied disguises of your guard, for one thing," Sirius said in an undertone, having freed himself from the bush with an impressive amount of nonchalance. He straightened his waistcoat and plucked a leaf from his hair. "For example, my disguise is that of an unassuming business man, out for a walk on his lunch."

"He insisted," Remus said, smiling despite the longsuffering tone in his voice. "He even researched his role."

"It's a good disguise," Harry said, nodding with approval. "Except there's no reason for a businessman to be taking a walk in a child's park in the middle of Little Whinging. The dragonhide boots are also kind of a giveaway."

"The dog was a better disguise," Remus agreed. "At least until we get to London."

"Bugger that," Sirius said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder. "I'm not an animal, Remus. I have a heart, just like you and Harry. When you cut me, I bleed."

"When you cut dogs, they bleed," Harry said. "And no one notices them then, either."

"Shut up, Harry," Sirius said, grinning. "I hate leashes."

Apparating went as planned, and soon they were riding the tube all over London.

\-----------------------

"We can't go straight to our destination," Sirius said. "It's Unplottable, among other things, but we'd rather no one even be aware of the general area."

Harry spotted a blind man at the first station. He wouldn't have looked twice, except for the obvious limp and the chunk of nose missing under his dark glasses.

"Is that Moody?" Harry whispered as they boarded. "The real one, I mean?"

"Good eye, Harry," Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't be too obvious about looking."

They played a subtle game of 'spot the wizard' until they had ridden almost every line, and were on their way back to the heart of London. According to Sirius, there were still a couple people Harry had yet to notice.

"The man in the trenchcoat," Harry muttered, swaying toward Sirius with the movement of the train and glancing toward the man in question. "He's wearing pink Wellingtons."

Sirius peered in the direction Harry had indicated, frowning. "Remus?"

Remus looked as well, and Harry realized suddenly that Remus and Sirius were both gripping their wands.

"Not one of ours," Remus confirmed. "Next stop."

They exited the train calmly, and boarded the next arrival. The man hadn't followed them.

"Kingsley saw him," Sirius said as Harry and Remus peered at the map, trying to figure out where their detour was taking them. "He's taking care of it."

"We're still going in the right direction," Remus announced, after Harry found their location. "We'll be there soon."

"Thank Merlin," Sirius said. "We should just duck into a loo and apparate the rest of the way."

"We have to wait for-"

"I know, I know," Sirius grumbled. The train stopped, and a woman tripped through the doors and jostled Remus.

"Wotcher," she said, grinning. Harry had spotted her three lines ago, due to her vivid pink hair and complete inability to deal with the movement of the train without falling over. The hair was dull brown now, but she was otherwise still mostly recognisable. "Kingsley says all clear. We're going direct at the next stop."

"Finally," Sirius said, grabbing the woman's arm to steady her as the train started moving again. "Give him the key, Tonks."

She passed a small roll of parchment to Harry, who opened it and read ' _The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.'_

\-----------------------

They arrived at Grimmauld Place by midafternoon. It was a dreary looking townhouse on the outside, and the postwoman walked right past without seeming to notice it, her eyes slipping easily from eleven to thirteen.

"It's an old family place," Sirius said as they approached the front door. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I lived here when I was a kid. Hated every second."

Inside, the first thing Harry noticed was the troll leg they were using as an umbrella stand. There was a portrait on the wall, currently spitting invective at nothing in particular, though when she saw Sirius, her volume and focus increased.

"Shut up, you old bat," Sirius shouted over the noise, and used his wand to pull the curtains that framed her closed. "The Order is remodeling," he told Harry as they walked down the narrow, dusty hall toward a door. "It's a work in progress."

Sirius and Remus led Harry through the house, pointing out various rooms and objects of interest.

"That was my grandmother's favourite house elf," Sirius said as they passed the stairs. There was a whole row of stuffed house elf heads lining the staircase, but Sirius was pointing only at the one closest to them, so Harry tried very hard not to look at the rest.

"The House of Black has some very archaic traditions," Remus explained apologetically when Harry turned to him for an explanation. "They're a very old pureblood family."

Harry decided to ask Pansy in his next letter if her family stuffed house elves when they died. It seemed like there was no way he wouldn't get an interesting response. Their tour soon ended in the basement kitchen, where two of the Weasleys were having tea.

"Oh, you must be Harry!" This was obviously Mrs. Weasley. She stood up and beamed at him. "It's so good to finally meet you, we hear so much about you from the boys, you know! Have a seat, I'll get you a cuppa. You boys have a seat, too, you must be tired from your trip."

Harry sat down next to the youngest Weasley, the girl. He knew her name. Ron had told him her name before. It started with a G, he was almost positive. Harry hated when this happened; it was very awkward.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her and hoping to fake his way through. She blushed and smiled back. Remus sat down across from them, looking over their shoulder to where Sirius and Mrs. Weasley had struck up an intense debate that seemed to be about the house itself.

"Hello," she said, and paused briefly. "How has your holiday been?"

"Alright, aside from the dementor attack," Harry said with a shrug. "Yours?"

Her eyes widened and Harry realized she might not have heard about that. Hastily, he added, "We were fine once we got behind the wards, really."

Mrs. Weasley bustled past, setting down a jug of milk and a mug of tea for Harry. "I understand, Sirius, but it is safer here at headquarters - why do you think we're here? Ginny, get the sugar, would you?"

Harry hid his relief and looked up as the kitchen door opened. It was the Headmaster and another man with a long beard.

"Mr. Potter!" the man exclaimed, "I see you've arrived safely. So good to meet you at last, my boy. I don't care what the Prophet says, if Dumbledore trusts you, that's good enough for me!"

"Thank you, Dedalus," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Molly, I'll have a cup if you've made a pot. How was your trip, Mr. Potter?"

"It was alright," Harry said, fiddling with his tea. "The Tube was fun."

"Albus, we have to talk," Sirius said, and all the energy he'd been focusing on his argument with Mrs. Weasley turned toward the Headmaster instead. "I see no reason why Devon-"

"Sirius, we have discussed this many times," Dumbledore said patiently, and the two of them plus Dedalus took a seat at the table, arguing. Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.

"Hey, Harry," she said suddenly. "You should see the library here. It's really great."

"Wow, yeah," Harry said, suppressing a smile. "I love libraries. Let's go see that."

They got up and left the kitchen together. Harry grinned at her as the door closed behind them. "Sirius has been trying for weeks to convince Remus and Professor Dumbledore to let me stay in Devon for part of the visit," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Apparently the house with the detatched body parts lying around is safer."

Ginny giggled. "Imagine going downstairs for a glass of milk in the middle of the night and running into one of the heads in the dark," she said. "It's not pleasant."

Harry made a face and resolved to be extra careful.

"Who else is staying here?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Well, all of us, of course," Ginny said. "And Hermione, and there are some Order members coming and going at random. Sometimes Snape is here, too," she offered, though she made a face when she said it.

"Snape?" Harry asked, his full attention caught. "I haven't heard anything about him since... the end of term. Do you think he'll be around soon?"

"He's not here often," she told him. "He only visits- FRED! GEORGE! I TOLD YOU TO STOP IT!"

Harry stumbled back against the wall, startled badly by her sudden outburst. She had made a fist in the air and was yelling into it. Harry looked closer and realized there was a string dangling in her grip; she proceeded to yank on it, hard.

"Ow!"

"Merlin, Gin!"

"How are we supposed to become successful businessmen if you shatter our eardrums?"

"If you don't stop eavesdropping on my conversations, you'll be lucky to graduate from Hogwarts," Ginny said, glaring at the twins who had just materialized at the top of the steps.

"But Ginny, we never talk anymore!"

The twins assumed wounded expressions as Harry and Ginny reached the top of the steps. "We can feel the emptiness in our hearts where your presence once lingered." Fred clutched at his chest and waved his other hand through the air erratically.

"If this, this madness, is the only way to be near our dearest sister-"

George bowed his head. "Then we will do whatever it takes."

Harry glanced at Ginny. She wasn't buying it, and was, in fact, opening her mouth to say so. Fred interrupted.

"Harry! Good to see you again, old chum!"

"We simply must catch up," George informed him, grabbing one of his arms. "We hear you're an evil dark wizard these days?"

Fred grabbed the other. "Would you say that's a profitable line of work?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Not especially."

"Ah, but you aren't experiencing an economic downturn in the House of Potter, are you?"

"No?"

"Lovely!"

\-----------------------

"They've been trying to raise money to fund their line of pranks," Hermione explained half an hour later, having discovered Harry surrounded by Weasleys in a hallway and done the proper thing, which was to whisk him away and give him a chance to sit down. "They tried to talk my father into investing when we met them in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago. Weasley Wizarding Wheezes."

"They're doing a pretty good job, though," Harry said, sitting cross legged on his new bed. "Did you see those ears they made?"

"I see them all the time," Hermione said with a foreboding expression to match her tone. Harry was sharing a room with Ron, and she had propped herself up against the footboard. "And I feed them to Crookshanks when I do. If they didn't want their merchandise ruined, they wouldn't spend all their time spying on people who have half a brain."

"It's beta testing, Hermione!" One of the twins called this to them from outside the door. "If the people with more than half a brain can't spot them, then everyone else won't be able to either!"

Hermione stood up and stared around at the floor, finally finding and stomping on the offending ear, which had been skittering toward the door in a belated bid for escape.

"Ow," the other twin said. The ear was tugged under the crack at the bottom of the door, and Hermione huffed.

"As I was saying," she said, sitting back down on the bed and rolling her eyes. "They're a complete menace."

\-----------------------

Harry didn't end up seeing Snape at Grimmauld Place for several days. They didn't cross paths at all until a particularly upsetting nightmare had Harry carefully navigating in the dark to the kitchen and sitting down with some tea in the middle of the night, when Snape happened to floo in. His arrival startled Harry out of helplessly morbid thoughts about the last sounds Karkaroff had made before he died, and he nearly upset his tea.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, unsurprised.

"Professor Snape," Harry said, eyeing him carefully. He looked fine. All seemed to be in order. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected," Snape said, moving further into the room and removing his cloak. "And you?"

Harry wrapped his hands around his mug and shrugged, turning his thoughts determinedly away from darker things. "Things have been pretty eventful. My aunt came back."

Snape didn't respond immediately, but Harry continued anyway. "Dudley's thrilled, but she's only back because she's scared. I'm almost positive."

"Have you been practicing your Occlumency?" Snape asked. Harry glanced up at him, then back down at his tea.

"Yeah," he said. "And it does help. I don't have nearly as many nightmares when I practice before bed." He paused, looking at nothing in particular. "I just don't know what to say to Dudley, or if I should say anything at all."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry ducked his head and sighed.

"Yeah," he said. "I probably shouldn't do anything unless I know it won't make things worse. I don't like it, though."

"That is rarely relevant in these matters," Snape said. "I have business to attend to, but we will speak soon about your progress."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Snape had given him a thick book on Legilimency before the end of term and his disappearance, and Harry was glad to know he'd been right to assume that he should have been reading it during break. He hated doing unnecessary schoolwork.

"See that you get some sleep, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

\-----------------------

"What do the burn marks mean?"

Harry and Sirius were in the drawing room, taking advantage of a bit of free time to hide from Molly Weasley, who had taken charge of sprucing up Grimmauld Place and didn't take no for an answer. Harry ran his fingers down the lineages of the Black family tree, pausing at familiar surnames. There were a lot of them. Even Neville was related to the Blacks.

"Family members who brought shame on the House of Black by being decent human beings," Sirius said. He pointed to one of the scorch marks in the most recent generation. "That's mine."

Harry paused, debating whether he should ask, but Sirius was already continuing.

"Being sorted into Gryffindor was bad enough," Sirius said, not without pride. "But the last straw was when I ran away and moved in with your father and his family," he said. "Dorea and Charlus would have been disowned too, if my mother had known I went to them." Harry let his hand trail over the tree to where his grandparents were indicated. The tree didn't go into detail when the family member took another name, but it wasn't hard to guess who 'one son' meant.

"Uncle Alphard went down with me," Sirius said with a grin, pointing out another scorch mark. "He gave me a bit of money. My mother didn't appreciate that at all."

"Who are the rest?" Harry asked. "What did they do?"

"Well, my cousin Andromeda married a muggleborn," Sirius said. "You've met her daughter. She doesn't even seem to be on here... Tonks, I mean. The Metamorphagus."

Harry grinned. "So that turned out alright," he said. He liked Tonks. She had helped even the playing field yesterday when Fred and George took advantage of being allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts to make Harry's bacon try to bargain for its life at breakfast. Her pig snout was sensational, as was her persistence in chasing them down and giving each of them one of their own.

"Without a doubt," Sirius agreed, looking for another burn mark. "Cedrella almost had it worse than Andromeda, from the stories. She married a Weasley." Sirius pointed out a mark a couple generations up.

"You're even related to the Weasleys?" Harry asked. A scuffling noise at the door had them both looking up.

"All the pureblood families are interrelated," Sirius said, peering with worry at the half open door and lowering his voice. "Molly's my cousin by marriage, and Arthur's a second cousin or something like it."

"We're related?" Ron asked with interest, pushing the door open further and balancing a box of dusty antique pottery against the frame. "That's fascinating. Tell me more."

"You should know this, Ron," Sirius said, relaxing now that he knew he wasn't about to be forced into some elaborate doxy extermination scheme, like yesterday. "Your family follows their own bloodline as closely as the rest of us, even if you don't mind a bit of mixing now and then."

Ron set his box down on the floor and closed the door carefully behind him. "Well, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But I'd much rather be in here learning about how the Weasleys are blood traitors than out there polishing candelabras."

"Fair enough. You're in good company." Sirius waved him over to where he and Harry were leaning against a table, examining the tapestry together. "All the blood traitors in the Black family for the last couple centuries have been muggle lovers or Gryffindor lovers."

"Or squibs," Ron said. "Right?"

Sirius peered at the family tree and stabbed his finger at another burn mark. "Or squibs, that's right. You'd think they'd disown people for things like unhealthy obsessions with death-" He pointed at three or four different names with a bitter twist to his mouth, "Or sheep-" His finger prodded at the name of one of the unmarried men of an older generation, "Or even kleptomania-" Harry was surprised to see him point at one of the Longbottoms. "But the Black family has drawn their line in the sand, and they've stuck to it. Death Eaters are fine. Gryffindors, not so much."

"The Malfoys fit right in," Ron said under his breath, then seemed to remember suddenly that Harry was in the room and went red around the ears. "Er, sorry," he said. "Didn't mean anything by it."

Harry, who had been avoiding looking at that part of the tree entirely, shrugged. "S'fine," he said. "It's true."

Sirius glanced at Harry but refrained from commenting, which Harry was grateful for. He knew how he felt about Draco's father, but he'd only just this week managed to get the kind of distance that would allow him to think about Draco at all, let alone how he felt about their ruined friendship.

"The whole Black family are a delight to be around at holidays," Sirius agreed. "Now let me tell you about Araminta Meliflua and the Muggle-hunting Bill she tried to push through at the Ministry..."


	5. The Summer

A mess of letters arrived for Harry mid week, ruining an otherwise cheerful breakfast. Hermione set her fork down with a frown as Harry divested the final owl of its burden and dropped the letter in the small pile behind his chair.

"I thought she stopped..."

Harry shrugged. "I haven't seen the paper yet, but I don't think it was her." He picked up his glass of pumpkin juice and forced down a sip. "If it had been Skeeter, I'd have triple that, at least."

"How are all these letters even getting through the wards?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I wouldn't think strangers should be able to reach you here."

"Ah, that would be Sirius's doing." Remus leaned toward them, joining the conversation with an apologetic smile. "He was adamant that you had a right to your letters, back when we were altering the wards on Privet Drive. We had planned to only allow owls from known writers as usual, but you know how upset he's been about Dumbledore's insistence that you stay here, rather than in Devon. He wanted you to be able to make your own decisions about your post, if not your location." Remus glanced behind Harry's chair at the letters on the floor. "Though perhaps he made a miscalculation..."

"No," Harry said, surprise making him smile in spite of himself and the piles of hate mail he'd received over the course of the summer. "He... It was good of him to want to let me have some independence."

The three of them looked over at Sirius, who was currently explaining something no doubt fascinating to Tonks and Mrs. Weasley at the other end of the table, his hands describing wild arcs of illustrative shapes through the air and actually swooping down to pick up the salt shaker and wave it around for emphasis occasionally.

"Do you want me to talk to Dumbledore about limiting your post?" Remus asked after a moment.

"Oh, please yes," Harry said without hesitation. "As soon as you can."

"Quite the owl magnet these days, aren't you, Harry?" Fred and George dropped down into seats on either side of his chair, beaming at him. Harry met Hermione's eyes across the table and mirrored her resigned amusement. Fred and George had been trying to charm him into investing in their joke shop since his arrival.

"What can I do for the two of you?" Harry asked, spearing a bit of egg on his fork and taking a bite.

"We wanted to make a proposal-"

"-hear us out, now!"

George put on a deep announcer's voice. "Only you, Harry Potter, can help us save wizardkind!"

Harry did his best to express his skepticism via his next bite of toast. Fred and George glanced at each other over Harry's head and nodded, causing Hermione to sit up straight and Harry to put down his toast.

"The forces of darkness are gathering, Harry," Fred said in deep, mysterious tones, waving his wand at Harry's pile of letters. The majority of them rose into the air, ripping themselves open and folding around each other to create a rudimentary troll made of paper. It wasn't quite origami and it wasn't quite papier-mâché, but it was functional enough to pick up a paper club and glare around with dull eyes.

"We as thoughtful members of the community need to unite and do what we can to bring light back into the lives of the citizenry," George continued, waving his wand as well. The last two letters formed a paper wizard who went up to the troll's knee. Harry's reaction to this wanton destruction of his property was to pick up his toast and turn around in his seat to watch along with the rest of the table, curious.

The troll and the little wizard circled each other, occasionally making or parrying attacks. Despite the small stature of the wizard, it was holding out pretty well, at least until the troll seemed to realize its advantage and roared, lumbering toward the wizard and trying to step on it.

"Sometimes that means helping out the little guy," George continued. Fred waved his wand in a complicated little motion that set the troll on fire.

"Fred and George Weasley!"

Molly, who had been watching warily prior to the addition of flames, rushed forward from her spot at the table and waved her wand at the fireball that had once been a pile of insults for Harry. Water doused the troll and it crumpled into a heap of charred, soggy paper on the stone floor. "How many times have I told you, you do not set firesindoors! Especially when we are guests in someone else's home! This is the last straw!"

She carried on shouting, but it was too late. Harry stared at the mess his letters had become, biting his lip to hide his amusement. When he glanced at the twins, George took the opportunity to lift his eyebrows and grin hopefully while Fred distracted their mother.

He would hear them out, for certain.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry got a letter from Dudley later that day, detailing all the fun, exciting, muggle things he and his mother had been doing since Harry left. The letter was addressed to Harry, Hermione, and Ron to save time, according to Dudley, so Harry just reclined on his bed and listened as Ron read it out loud to the room.

"What's it been like, having her back?" Hermione asked once Ron finished his monologue.

"Awkward," Harry said, wrinkling his nose. "Tense. Alarmingly cheerful."

"Sounds like fun, mate," Ron said, making a face and tossing the letter on the bed. "Let's go down to dinner."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, and stood up as well. Hermione followed reluctantly.

"Harry," she said, bumping shoulders with him as they went down the stairs. "You never hung up the phone, you know. I heard you yelling at your aunt."

Harry grimaced and fixed his eyes on one of the house elves mounted on the wall ahead. "She said she saw the dementor and was scared, so naturally she locked the door and left us to die," he said, sneering somewhat.

"Which is why I mention it." Hermione seemed distressed, and grabbed his arm, coming to a halt before they reached the door to the kitchen. "I hate to get involved, it's not my business, but... oh, Harry, muggles can't see dementors."

Harry clenched his fists and spun back to the hallway to pace. "I knew she was lying! I knew it! I - I have to tell Dudley."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, and Harry remembered suddenly the way he'd left things at Privet Drive. He came to a halt in front of her, his heart sinking. "I can't tell him."

Hermione hesitated. "Why? You have to."

"I can't." He shook his head, certain. "They won't believe me."

"But Harry, she can't even see dementors," Hermione pointed out. "It's a fact. They can't argue with facts."

Harry scoffed. "It's the Dursleys, Hermione. Of course they can." He scrubbed his hand through his hair, frowning. "They've missed her. A lot. Her word against mine; they'll side with her so they can have their normal, perfect family back, and I'll be the scapegoat."

Then things really would be 'just like they were before', and the painful feeling in Harry's chest at the thought was followed by dull surprise. He hadn't realized he liked the way things were now as much as all that.

"I can't tell them," he repeated. Hermione's brows drew together in what looked like concern, but Harry waved her off and cut the conversation short by stepping past her through the kitchen door.

He settled himself between Sirius and Ron and filled up his plate, laughing when Sirius told a joke and avoiding eye contact with Hermione, who sat down next to Remus and cast him worried glances from time to time.

"I think Kreacher's been stealing things again," Remus said to Sirius. "The spells on the rubbish bags have been tampered with, you were right."

"Bloody elf," Sirius said, sounding annoyed. His next words were interrupted by the roaring of the floo, which spit out Tonks.

"Wotcher," she said as she tumbled out of the fireplace. Without slowing down to catch her balance, she managed to grab a plate from the end of the table and fall into a chair next to Remus.

"Impressive," Remus said. She grinned at him.

"That was so clumsy it was almost graceful," Sirius agreed, tipping his cup to her.

Talk turned to Tonks and her assignment, which ended up sounding less interesting than the younger residents of the house would have hoped. Hermione and Ginny might have disapproved of being eavesdropped on themselves, but no one complained when Fred and George managed to sneak their Ears through Imperturbable doors and listen in on Order conversations.

"Kingsley claims no one will suspect an Auror hanging about, but Unspeakables are paranoid, in my experience," Tonks said, using her bread roll to point at Sirius with more emphasis before taking a bite.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Harry asked. "Is he still investigating why that dementor was at Privet Drive?"

Tonks chewed on her roll, nodding. There hadn't been much news on that front from anyone, really. Harry would really have liked to ask about Shacklebolt's connection to his aunt as well, but given the choice between finding out what his aunt had been up to and finding out why he and Dudley had been attacked, he chose the latter.

"It's a tricky situation" she said, setting down her roll. "The dementors are supposed to be under Ministry control. So that means that either they aren't, in which case we have a big problem, or, well... or someone from the Ministry sent one to your place, in which case, well-"

"We have a big problem," Remus said grimly. Tonks made a face and nodded.

"It's slow going," she admitted. "But you'll hear about it if there's any kind of resolution."

"These are dark times," Sirius said, and everyone nodded. "Times like these, a person wants to spend with their family, close to home-"

Remus groaned, and Tonks let her head drop onto the table with a thunk. Harry snickered and stuffed a big bite of stew in his mouth.

"Harry, you know you'd rather be in Devon!" Sirius turned to him for backup. Harry shrugged and pointed at his mouth in apology, chewing slowly. He was somewhat conflicted over the choice. He liked Sirius's house better, certainly, but he liked the company here, and the feeling that they could really know what was going on with the resistance to Voldemort if only they could do a good enough job of eavesdropping.

"We have almost all the same wards on our place," Sirius said, undeterred. "We have an unplottable location, we have fresh air, we can go outside! No one has ever known where our house is. Contrast that with the crazy old bat who has portraits who knows where else-"

"Sirius, I'm sure you know where else," Remus said, rolling his eyes. "That crazy old bat is your mother. This house has a Fidelus Charm on it, which ours doesn't. That's why we're here and you know it."

Sirius grumbled and stabbed his fork into his bowl. This was always the argument that caught him out. "Yes well," he said ungraciously. "We could have gotten one of those, Remus. I don't see why not."

"If we were going to bother putting in the kind of effort necessary to put a Fidelus on our house, we might as well have saved the effort of warding this one, and just based headquarters there," Remus sighed. "And you didn't want that any more than I did."

Sirius set his fork down and looked to be gathering himself for a long response, so when the fireplace flared up again everyone turned to it with relief.

Professor Snape stepped out, raising an eyebrow at the attention. His eyes settled on Sirius, whose mulish expression hadn't yet dissipated, and dark amusement curled at the corners of his mouth.

"Still, Black?" he asked.

Sirius glared. "It's none of your business, Snape. Don't stick your greasy nose in where it doesn't belong."

"How does the muggle phrase go?" Snape paused, as though in thought. "Ah, yes. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, don't you agree?"

Sirius put his palms flat on the table as though preparing to stand, his eyebrows gathering with suspicion. "Is that a threat, Snape? I'll have you know the walls of my house are well warded."

Snape's eyes glinted with delight. "Obviously."

Hermione and Remus both looked grudgingly amused, and Harry was sure his expression was no different. It was possible that Snape had been waiting months to use that one, and Sirius played his part to a tee.

"Um, Sirius," Harry said, putting a hand on his arm. Sirius glanced over as though he'd forgotten Harry was there, and a vaguely guilty look passed over his features.

"Did you need something, Severus?" Remus asked.

"I must speak to Albus," Snape said, glancing at Harry. "Find me when you have finished your dinner, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, watching as Snape swept from the kitchen. Fortunately, the wind had been taken from Sirius's sails after Snape's arrival, and Remus managed to change the topic to Quidditch.

Setting down his fork, Harry pushed back from the table and excused himself as Sirius distracted the group with his spirited defense of the Starfish and Stick maneuver when defending against stooging.

He poked his head into the parlor as he passed, and the dusty sitting room. No Snape. He checked the drawing room as well, and finally discovered his professor's cloak resting over the back of a chair in the library. He sat down to wait.

"This was waiting for you outside the wards when I arrived." Snape had entered the room silently and now stood in front of Harry's chair. Harry put aside the book he'd been flipping through and looked up to see a letter held loosely in Snape's grasp. The fine parchment told him all he needed to know about who it was from and what he'd be doing with it after Snape left.

"No matter what you may have heard, and despite his position as a school governor," Snape continued, switching fluidly to Parseltongue and making no attempt to hand Harry his letter, "Lucius Malfoy does not know everything that happens at Hogwarts. In my experience, he knows very little."

Harry frowned and followed Snape to the heavy oak table that sat near the window. Snape set the letter down between them and caught Harry's eye when he looked up. "What are the five basic components of successful legilimency?"

Harry looked away, his eyes falling on the letter. "Er, eye contact, the tranquility of my mind, the specificity of my goal, stealth and awareness of potential defenses, and... ah... focus?"

Snape waited unblinkingly, and Harry wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd missed. He took a moment to be grateful that he really had done some reading over the summer and that the book had been thoroughly annotated in Snape's own spiky handwriting, providing more insight into the text than Harry could ever have managed on his own. "Oh." He remembered. "Suggestion. It's easier if you get the other person to think about what you want to know before you attempt it."

Snape tilted his head in acknowledgement. "And what of legal restrictions placed upon Legilimens?"

"You have to be approved by the Ministry to study," Harry said, thinking back to what he'd skimmed through several weeks ago. "Character tests and registration, like animagi."

Neither he nor Snape brought up the very salient point that Harry had never been approved or even attempted as much. Harry had rightly assumed he was meant to be keeping his mouth shut, considering Snape's next question.

"Penalties for abuse?"

"Azkaban and fines," Harry responded promptly. Snape raised an eyebrow. Harry waited for the next question with an expression of innocent curiosity on his face.

"Very well," Snape said after the silence had stretched to his satisfaction. "Your Occlumency lessons have reached the first plateau. In order to take your skills to the next level, you must have a more intimate understanding of exactly what it is you are defending against."

"Legllimency theory?"

"A more intimate understanding, still. I wish you to have the experience of intruding, so that you may better recognise an intruder's intentions because they will have once been your own." Snape lifted his head and fixed Harry with a cool, thoughtful expression. "As in duelling, you must be capable of understanding and employing both offensive and defensive tactics to be truly successful. Tonight we begin your foray into the offensive realm of mental conflict, Mr. Potter."

Harry sat up straighter in his chair and nodded his agreement. "Yes, sir," he hissed, thinking back to some of the more colourful descriptions of legilimency he had read about in Snape's book. Anxiety and excitement made his heart beat faster.

"Describe in detail the procedure for casting the spell..."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a few hours, Snape gathered his cloak and swept out of the library, having arranged to meet with Harry once more before their return to Hogwarts. Harry was left sitting by himself, mind still buzzing with the concepts they had just discussed and the six feet on the ethics of mind magic he'd been assigned to finish before their next lesson.

The fine parchment of Draco's letter sat stark against the oak of the table, capturing his attention when he happened to catch sight of it in his peripheral vision. He stared at it for a long moment, until a sound from outside the library door startled him and brought him back to himself, making him suddenly aware of how he'd been leaning away from it as though it might leap up and cut him open at any moment.

He huffed at himself and stood up to rummage around in the desk on the other side of the room to find some parchment and ink, distracted completely from his thoughts on legilimency. He would write to Dudley, and he wouldn't be stupid about Draco's letter. It wasn't going to hurt him. Returning to the table to write struck him as the sort of thing someone would do if they weren't bothered, so he made himself sit down where Snape had been and set up the inkwell with determination.

Dudley, he wrote. I'm glad you're having fun. Fred and George are trying to open a joke shop, and they want me to help...

Harry told Dudley all the news of Grimmauld Place, which wasn't terribly much. He tried hard to avoid talking about Aunt Petunia, which was difficult when Dudley had written of nothing else in his initial letter. Harry dipped his quill in the ink one last time to bring the note to a close when Draco's letter caught his eye again. After another, somewhat shorter one-sided staring contest, he swallowed and pressed quill to parchment again:

Draco sent another letter. Snape says I should read them. I can't imagine what he has to say to me that would take up so much space. The one that arrived today must be at least five feet. Fred and George could probably make two trolls from all the parchment he sends.

Harry signed his name and leaned back, waiting for the ink to dry and looking out the window, at the books in their shelves; anywhere but at the letter.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of the more positive things about staying at Grimmauld Place was that Harry could just floo with Pansy and Blaise when he wanted to talk to them, instead of having to wait days for an owl to arrive.

"Skeeter hasn't written anything since our arrangement," Harry said, leaning back on his hands. He was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, watching Pansy's head bob in the flames when she shifted.

"Here's to hoping it stays that way," she said as the flames licked at her hair. "How are things in Gryffindoria?"

Harry had tried to give Pansy and Blaise an idea of where he was, but he found himself unable to say even the name of the place. The Fidelus Charm in action, according to Remus. He couldn't even tell them there was a Fidelus Charm, and whenever he tried to describe what Grimmauld Place was like, their eyes glossed over and his voice stuttered nonsense. They had taken to calling it Gryffindoria (and other variations on the theme), since the only thing Harry had been able to get across was that he was the only Slytherin in residence, though again, details were not forthcoming. He didn't even try to bring up Snape's visits.

"Red and gold, mostly," Harry said. He found that flippancy and outright lying worked well when trying to describe his surroundings and the people around him. He'd come up with a code of sorts and could only hope they were following along. "Merlin and Arthur got into another row over their castle at dinner last night."

Pansy's mouth and eyebrows flattened in a kind of bewildered amusement. "Right," she said. "And how are the... what did you call them yesterday?"

"Are you asking about the nargles?" Harry asked solicitously. "I think I'm going to make a deal with them after all. They made a very convincing presentation."

"I always wish Hermione was here to translate when you start talking like that."

Harry shrugged. Pansy followed most of the nonsense he said. Most of the time. There wasn't really much he could do if she didn't, because of the spell. "The centaur is being pushy. I've been trying to avoid her."

"Or Lovegood, actually, though her explanation might make less sense than you do." Pansy shifted again. "Next time, you're sticking your head in the floo. My knees hurt."

"We'll be back at school soon," Harry said, dropping back into uncoded conversation with relief. "We might not even talk again before we see each other on the train."

Pansy glared at him. "Harry Potter, you are not going to ignore me for the next week."

"I wasn't going to ignore you!" Harry rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer to the fireplace. "I just meant we'll probably be busy with packing and last minute things."

"You just mean you don't want to risk me bringing up Draco again," Pansy countered, raising an eyebrow. "Because I plan to and you know it. Oh wait!" She looked to her left, then her right, and then assumed an expression of surprise. "Fancy that, Harry, we're talking about him now. Did you read the last letter he sent you?"

Harry groaned. "No, I did not read it. And I-"

"Harry-"

"I don't want to, Pansy."

Pansy looked ready to leap out of the fire and shake him. As a matter of fact, the flames were starting to spit and crackle. Harry scooted back and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Too bad," she enunciated. "It's been the entire summer. Draco is making himself sick over everything that happened. He's sorry and worried and miserable and fighting with his parents every day, and you're sitting in your borrowed Gryffindor Tower, pretending he doesn't even exist!"

Harry frowned. "I'm not-"

"You could read his letters, even if you don't respond, Harry!" Pansy raised her voice and otherwise ignored his interruption. "Give me something to tell him that doesn't make him think you hate him."

"I don't hate him!"

"Then read his letters!"

"I can't!"

"Why NOT?"

They were both shouting now. Harry's chest felt tight and his eyes were itchy. Pansy's face was red and fierce. The flames surrounding her only accentuated her glare.

Harry rubbed his face with one hand and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. That had escalated faster than he would have liked. He tried to gather his thoughts, failed dismally, and decided to start talking anyway.

"I -" He paused and let his breath out in a woosh that made the flames flicker around Pansy's ears. "His father! He laughed, Pansy! And what he said... And Draco, all year... I just - he kept saying... awful things! I don't know if I can - I mean, how am I supposed to-?"

Pansy had fallen silent and was waiting for him to continue with a tense sort of neutrality to her expression. Harry thought it looked a bit like worry, and tried to ignore it.

"I can't trust him," he said after a long pause. "He loves his father. He talks about him all the time! And I can't ask him to choose me over his family, and..." Harry scrubbed at his forehead roughly and met her eyes pleadingly. "I can't, Pansy."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shouting through the floo at Pansy had cleared a few things up, even for Harry. He hadn't been certain himself why he was so against reading Draco's letters, but now that he'd said it out loud, it made sense, and it made it easier.

Dudley's owl returned a couple days before school started, laden with a brown wrapped parcel along with a note, which Harry opened first. The letter was the same bucket of effusions as the last one, and Harry skimmed it. He found the explanation for the parcel at the end:

I thought you might change your mind, so I held on to them for you.

Harry ripped off the wrapping and sure enough, a pile of letters marked with the Malfoy crest (and some without) spilled onto the bedspread, where they stayed for another hour while Harry stared at them and staged a fierce mental debate.

Dudley was a total git, he decided finally. But the idea of opening one of the letters didn't fill him with indefinable pain anymore, which meant that, unlike before, he had a choice of whether or not he wanted to see what Draco had written.

Another stretch of time passed while Harry went back and forth, but he was and always had been interminably curious. He finally sifted through the pile and found a shorter letter, ripping it open before he could change his mind.

Sometimes you're a complete wanker, you know that?

Harry blinked and glared at the letter.

That was all of it. It was dated toward the beginning of August, and had the proper salutation and even a rather officious signature that Draco had spent months developing back in second year, but really, it was just one line.

Harry dropped it on the floor and rifled through the pile for a thicker one. Pansy and Blaise had better not have been lying all summer.

I'm so sorry for everything, this letter began. Harry nodded to himself. That was more along the lines of what he'd been led to expect. I don't know what to do, my father says I can't even speak to you anymore. If he knew I've been writing to you he'd be furious.

It doesn't matter though, you're not reading these anyway. You're just going to toss this in your muggle bin at your muggle house because you hate me and you have every right, although that doesn't mean you're not an arsehole for ignoring me...

It carried on in a similar maudlin tone for several pages, which Harry read through curiously. Draco honestly hadn't expected Harry to read it, and it showed. There were blotches that he hadn't bothered to fix, and a lot more insults directed toward both his own father and Harry than he would ever express if he thought he had an audience.

Harry also suspected from the context that Draco had used the word 'muggle' as a profanity several times, though he wasn't entirely positive. Draco's handwriting was still perfect, despite the blotches and a few crossed out words, and Harry wrinkled his nose and tossed the letter aside.

He reached for another almost immediately. Outside, the stars came out, and when Ron came in and climbed into bed, Harry ignored him, engrossed in a letter from mid-July that described Draco's mother's reaction to the whole mess and then alternated between explaining why Harry was a bad person for not returning his letters and describing at length how sorry he was for what he'd said over the course of the last year.

Harry couldn't honestly tell whether to be angry at Draco for some of the things he said, or pity him for everything he said, but he moved on to the next letter in the pile nonetheless. It had been sent in early June and inside, Draco both apologised profusely and entreated Harry to let him know he was alright, after which he asked Harry to contact Blaise if he had a message for Draco, because his father wouldn't take well to finding out that Draco was receiving post from Harry at the Manor.

When he'd read all the letters, Harry leaned back against his headboard and surveyed the parchment spooled out across his blankets with a new slump in his shoulders. There were only three days left until everyone went back to Hogwarts.

On the one hand, that meant there was no question of Harry's having to write a reply to any of it, which was good.

On the other hand, there were only three days left until everyone went back to Hogwarts. Draco included.

Harry didn't know what that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody, everybody! Your reviews are like diamonds, and I adore you all. But you should know: this story is about to take a turn. It's marked humor, and there still will be humor because that's how I roll, but there's going to be a lot more drama, and a lot more plot. I cannot guarantee that all the characters will emerge unscathed. I really have to emphasise that. I cannot guarantee that for anyone. Um. So. Fair warning?


	6. The Conflict

The majority of Harry's first ever ride on the Hogwarts Express back when he was eleven had been spent hiding in the loo, and it was still better than what he experienced on his way into fifth year.

"...And then mum said I could try driving the car when we come back for winter holiday, even though you aren't technically allowed until you're seventeen."

Ron unwrapped one of Dudley's pumpkin pasties and shrugged. "I've driven a car before."

Dudley was outraged. "No you haven't! Wizards don't even have cars!" He paused and glanced at Hermione. "Do they?"

"Sometimes they do," Ron said defensively. "My dad modified one. It even flies and goes invisible and things."

"I remember that car," Harry said, glad to be talking about something that wasn't Aunt Petunia. "Professor Lupin drove me to his house in it, once. It was terrifying. Brooms should be in the air, and cars should be on the ground. And if they're not, you should at least be able to see what you're doing."

"I think that's highly illegal, anyway, Ron," Hermione cut in. She was already dressed in her uniform, prefect badge pinned to her chest and sparkling proudly.

"I bet you haven't driven it at all," Dudley said, and puffed himself up. "Mum says usually teenagers aren't responsible enough to drive, but she thinks I'd be fantastic."

"I have driven it," Ron disagreed. "Fred and George and I take it out when Dad won't notice, and we even fly it sometimes!"

"Fred and George wouldn't let you fly it," Neville interjected from the other corner of the compartment, where he was fiddling with a pot of some strange looking plant. His own prefect badge shone in a more subdued manner on his lapel. "I bet they don't even let you sit in front when they're flying."

Ron's ears were getting red. Dudley took the attention off him by, unsurprisingly, turning the conversation back to his mother. "Yeah, but mum says she's going to train me up so I can pass my test on my birthday and everything."

Dudley hadn't stopped talking about his mother since they got on the train. Harry was ready to yell at Hermione to get her to stop sending him worried and sympathetic glances every time he did.

"I'm going to go find... Anthony and Luna," Harry said, having decided to avoid the inevitable conflict. The Gryffindors called their goodbyes to him as he hurried out the door, which he closed with a sigh. He didn't fancy poking his head into dozens of other compartments, but there wasn't really much of a choice if he wanted to find his Ravenclaw friends. He set off down the corridor and got to work.

* * *

Every compartment Harry looked in on met him with hostile or wide eyed expressions when they realized it was him. He'd been to ten compartments and was starting to seriously consider giving up and taking a nap in one of the loos until they arrived at Hogwarts.

Going back to Dudley and his gushing over Aunt Petunia and every single unfailingly muggle thing they'd done together that summer wasn't an option. He was almost afraid he'd find Blaise and Pansy, since they would either be alone, or they wouldn't be. Neither option sounded appealing. Anthony and Luna were a safer bet, if only he could find them without also finding out exactly how many of his fellow Hogwarts students had a subscription to the Daily Prophet.

Easier said than done.

Harry wandered up and down in the corridor, filled with indecision until he found himself at the end of the train and turned around to see Draco exiting a compartment and sliding the door shut with deliberation. Harry glanced at the compartments on either side of him and spent a second longer than he should have debating which one to duck into.

"Harry." Draco was looking right at him, now, and standing directly in front of him.

He was saying something, and he looked so worried and upset that Harry wished he had another train car to back into. The last time Harry had seen Draco looking that concerned, Harry had been broken and bleeding and had just escaped from the graveyard where Crouch Jr had cut off his own hand and forced Harry to lean over a cauldron and bleed bright red blood into the diamond coloured water...

Harry shook his head a few times, blinking against his tunnelling vision and hoping distantly that Draco wouldn't notice his state. Draco's eyebrows drew together as he spoke. He looked paler than he had been last year, which was a feat.

"I just wanted you to know," Draco said, gesturing vaguely. "Blaise said you didn't read any of my letters, so I just wanted to..."

He trailed off and looked more closely at Harry. Whatever he saw made his mouth tighten. "Right. I'll... I'll just go."

Draco hurried away, and only once Harry had the corridor to himself again did he finally take a sharp breath and lean back against the wall. The loo was looking better and better.

* * *

At the feast, Draco sat next to Theodore Nott, though they didn't seem to speak to each other. Harry decided not to notice either way. He was partially successful, considering that he was still incredibly disconcerted by the skeletal horses that had been pulling the school carriages this year. He had liked it better when he thought the carriages were charmed.

The new Defense teacher was an unpleasant looking, pink clad woman from the Ministry. Harry remembered hearing Tonks and Remus discussing her appointment a couple days ago. She had sounded awful then, and from the long, dry speech she gave as she cast her pouchy gaze over the Hall, Harry wasn't holding out much hope.

"If you're going to sit with Harry and I, you can at least be enough of an adult to pass the water jug when asked," Pansy hissed.

That was another thing.

"I'm sitting with Harry," Blaise responded, glaring at her and pouring more water into his already half full cup. "I don't see how it's anything to do with me if you decide to sit with us. And I thought we agreed not to be petty about this."

If the Defense professor hadn't still been speaking, Harry was sure Pansy would have yelled her next words. Her harsh whisper was loud enough to garner a few glares from the sixth year prefects. "I am not the one who won't pass the water jug, Blaise."

"So you two broke up, then," Harry said unnecessarily. "That's awful. When did that happen?"

"Last week," Blaise said, raising his eyebrow at Pansy and pointedly ignoring the water jug sitting in front of him. "Pansy said she couldn't stand me anymore."

"Yes, well Blaise called me an awful harridan, but no one's pointing fingers," Pansy retorted. "Harry, it's okay. Neither of us wants to put you in the middle of this."

Harry didn't even bother to point out their current seating arrangements. He picked up the water jug and set it in front of Pansy on his other side. She seemed far more pleased than the situation warranted.

At least Anthony and Luna looked fairly cheerful over at the Ravenclaw table, or at least what passed for cheerful for them. As Harry watched, Anthony slid easily into his 'I Have A Book Open Under The Table And Am Ignoring You' slump, while Luna hummed next to him and tugged at her radish earrings occasionally. She saw Harry looking and waved.

"...Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be..."

The Weasley twins were playing a baffling game involving a ball of parchment and a fork, and Harry spent a few minutes trying to puzzle out the rules before giving up. Hermione seemed to actually be paying attention to the new professor, and her expression made Harry frown and tune in again.

"...some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement..."

Harry shook his head and resolved to ask Hermione later what the new professor had said to get her looking like she'd smelled something foul and was trying not to let on.

In the meantime, he went back to pretending the rest of the hall wasn't scowling at him whenever he accidentally made eye contact. Because they definitely were. Skeeter had done a lot more damage than he'd thought.

He didn't even know most of the students he was being glared at by. Granted, it was worse at the Slytherin table, but that was no surprise after all the hate mail he'd gotten over the summer.

"I don't think Harry wants to hear you tapping your fingers on the table like a troglodyte, Blaise," Pansy muttered under her breath. "Do try to be considerate for once in your life."

"Hey, remember that time in third year when we all went to Pansy's dorm?" Harry asked abruptly.

"To look at the Map, you mean?" Pansy frowned, obviously trying to work out what Harry was getting at.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Do you remember that, Blaise?"

Blaise gave him a funny look. "I remember you and Draco got covered in boils."

"Yeah," Harry said, and took a sip of water. "Yeah, that time. That was fun."

The two of them blinked at him, waiting for more, but Harry just turned his attention back to the blathering from the head table. He was exhausted already. If only the new professor would stop talking, he could go up to his dorm and fall straight to sleep. Things would hopefully be better in the morning.

* * *

"Wands away and quills out, please."

Professor Umbridge's high-pitched, girlish voice was grating on Harry's already frayed nerves. On his way up to the classroom, people from every House had seen him and  _run in the opposite direction_. Some of them had sneered. Some of them had pulled out their wands or walked closer to their friends. None of them had said a word to him. It was like they thought he was nutters or something.

Pansy and Blaise walked with him to classes, determinedly silent in the other's presence, but still there. It was better than being alone, anyway, which wasn't saying much.

And now they were all turning to page five of  _Defensive Magical Theory_  by Wilbert Slinkhard, and reading the most agonizingly boring first chapter Harry had ever encountered. He gave up quickly and looked around the room instead, realizing almost immediately that he wasn't the only one. Daphne Greengrass was taking the opportunity to plait her hair, though she kept her eyes on her book and made a big show of turning a page every once in a while. Umbridge was sitting at the front of the class, smiling pleasantly and pointedly at every stray eye.

Another twenty minutes passed in painful silence, until finally, Theodore Nott raised his hand.

Umbridge ignored him, and Theo propped his chin up in his other hand, letting his arm dangle aloft as he stared down the top of their professor's mousy brown head.

Finally, she gave in. Theo had clearly settled in for an entire class period of keeping his hand in the air, and everyone else had settled in to watch.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?"

"Oh no," Theo said amiably. "I've just finished, is all. I think we all have."

The rest of the class murmured their agreement. Harry joined in and discreetly flipped to the last page of the chapter.

"Is that so?" Umbridge said. "Lovely. Then I should like you all to turn to page nineteen and begin Chapter Two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation'."

The whole group of them exchanged incredulous glances.

"Professor..." One of the girls, Tracy, raised her hand as she spoke. "I have a question."

Umbridge raised her eyebrows. "In the future, dear, wait until you are called on to speak."

"Yes, ma'am, of course, my apologies," she said, ducking her head and continuing in an anxious tone before Umbridge could reply. "My name is Tracy Davis, ma'am. It's only, I sometimes have difficulty in keeping up with my coursework, and especially as this is our O.W.L. year, I wonder if it might be possible if you please, ma'am, for you to provide a Ministry-approved syllabus that I could follow, in order to apply myself more efficiently?"

Umbridge blinked at her for a long moment, but Tracy's face was beautifully earnest. Several other students nodded and a positive murmur floated through the room.

"I believe I provided you with the course aims at the beginning of the lesson," Umbridge said. "Do you not find that sufficient to your needs?"

"I'm terribly sorry ma'am." Tracy ducked her head again and managed a blush. "I'd like to begin my revision schedule as soon as possible, you understand. I find that the other professors don't always have the most predictable or stable lesson plans, and I thought perhaps your curriculum could provide a sort of solid base to work from."

Umbridge thought this over and pressed her hands together, letting out a girlish giggle that made Harry shudder unexpectedly. "Well I suppose a Ministry-approved syllabus would be an effective learning tool, dear."

"Thank you so much, ma'am," Tracy gushed as Umbridge moved to the front desk and waved her wand over several sheets of parchment. "I really do believe theory and tradition are the finest tools of a successful education. We really are long since due for some structure at Hogwarts."

Harry glanced at Blaise, who had a small smirk playing around his mouth. He couldn't be the only one who thought Tracy was laying it on a bit thick, but Umbridge was up at her desk now, creating a syllabus and even wearing an sickly sweet smile as she did it.

* * *

"Tracy's good friends with some of the Ravenclaws," Pansy told him after class as they watched the other Slytherins crowd around Tracy's syllabus and make disgusted faces at it. "They had Defense first thing, read through four chapters in one class, and there was never any need to talk."

"Try and get a copy of that," Harry said, hanging back as he watched the rest of the Slytherins gather around. Draco broke out of the pack just as Pansy squeezed Harry's arm and stepped away. She stopped when she saw Draco coming and waited for him.

"So thoughtful, Draco," Pansy said with a smile, plucking his copy out of his hands while he was busy looking anxiously at Harry. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and examined his feet more thoroughly than he ever had before. He needed new trainers. "We'll see you in Herbology, darling?"

"Yeah," Draco said, looking back at her and hitching his bag up on his shoulder. Harry's shoelaces were fraying, too. "I'll see you there."

He fled in the direction of the Great Hall. Harry relaxed once he turned a corner out of sight and glanced at the syllabus.

"She really means to keep us reading that book all term," Pansy muttered, running a manicured finger down the rows of dates and assignments. "Well, I'm going to be catching up on my Witch Weekly subscription."

"This is... insane," Harry said, glaring at the paper. Pansy glanced up at him with a quirk of her mouth.

"We've had useless Defense teachers before, Harry. Somehow we'll manage."

"No," Harry shook his head, all the anger and frustration of the day boiling up and demanding to be released. "The Ministry put her here. They hand picked her, I heard about it over the summer. They've got her teaching us how to sit quietly while-"

Pansy shushed him. Harry ignored her and, indeed, raised his voice. Several of the Slytherins in the group crowded around Tracy glared at him.

"Voldemort, Pansy! I'm allowed to say it! He's back and he's killed people already, and we're  _reading_  in the one class that's supposed to show us how to protect ourselves?"

Grabbing his arm, Pansy leaned closer. "Yes, I know, Harry. But do you know what's not going to help?"

Harry glared at her and opened his mouth. She lifted her 'I-dare-you' eyebrow and continued.

"What definitely  _won't_  help is yelling about it in the corridor like a madman," she said. "Instead, we're going to do what we've always done, which is deal."

"But Dumbledore-"

"Got dropped from the Wizengamot for publicly supporting you, didn't you hear?" Pansy led him down the corridor by his elbow to a quieter spot. "You're not popular, Harry, face it. You're more infamous than famous, and you almost always have been. We need to work on your public relations, and that starts with tactical thinking, and  _not shouting_."

Harry slumped. "Yes,  _fine_ ," he grumbled. "I'm going to the library."

"Good!" Pansy said, beaming. "You go and you practice using your indoor voice."

* * *

"O.W.L.'s, no time to talk," Anthony said when Harry arrived at the library. Harry made a face at him.

"It's the first day of school, Anthony," he said, as though Anthony might have forgotten.

"Of fifth year, Harry," Anthony said, as though Harry might have forgotten. "I should have gotten started on this weeks ago, but I got that three volume treatise on Game Theory as a back-to-school present and I couldn't put it down. I have more than sixty optional texts to get through before May, and right now I have to come up with a combinatorial proof to decide where to start."

Harry sighed and sat down next to Luna while Anthony buried his nose in his lists and books again, looking far too pleased with it all. "How was your summer, Luna?"

"Strenuous and invigorating, Harry, thank you for asking." Luna smiled up at him from her own hefty tome. "I'm afraid I may not have much time to speak with you this year, either, unfortunately."

Harry let his head thump down on the table. "Why, Luna? You don't have O.W.L.'s."

"Not technically, no," Luna said from above him. "But I've been in the habit since the end of first year of reading for all of Anthony's classes in addition to my own. It's fascinating to be able to compare two of my own essays on the same topic with a year of personal and academic development separating them."

Harry lifted his head up and looked at her. "So, wait. You're doing all your assignments twice?"

Luna nodded and tilted her head so that it was parallel to his. Harry let his head thunk back on the table.

"It was Anthony's idea initially, but I do enjoy it," she explained with an absent sort of smile in her voice. "Though I imagine I will be quite busy this year."

"I have a headache," Harry told the table.

"You have bumped your head twice since you sat down," Luna said helpfully.

Harry groaned and made a face against the wood. "Maybe I was doing one of your puzzles and the answer turned out to be Ludenwic again."

"I thought it was usually Ludenberg?" Luna tilted her head curiously. "It's good to see you anyway, Harry."

"It's good to see you too, Luna," Harry said pulling his head off the desk and sitting up straight. "You too, Anthony."

Anthony waved a quill at Harry in tacit agreement.

"Anthony." Harry waited until Anthony finally paused in his writing and glanced up. "You and I are going to go flying this year, okay? Before it gets too cold out. I don't want to go flying in the snow."

"You've made me go flying in the snow before," Anthony said. "I didn't think you minded it."

Harry leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "I don't, but it's still better when it's nice out," he explained.

He sat with Anthony and Luna for the rest of lunch, basking in the comfortable silence and the near-empty library. He really did have a headache, and not from hitting his head on the table.

Clearing his mind helped, and he focused on maintaining that level of calm in the hallways on the way to his next class, Charms, where Flitwick shattered his peaceful interior by telling them they needed to come up with career goals. Harry hadn't given much thought to the topic at all, and had no idea where to start. Most of the adult wizards he knew were either professors or aurors, and neither of those sounded particularly appealing.

* * *

"Weasley Wizarding Wheezes," Fred proclaimed, displaying the logo for Harry's perusal. "Home of the finest tricks, gags, and pranks a wizard could ever ask for."

"Nice," Harry said, frowning at the pile of sweets. "How did you pull all this off so quickly?"

George shrugged. "We've had a lot of stuff in beta testing for a while. It took your funding to purchase the ingredients to let us work with our products on a larger scale."

"More importantly, we can really get a start on the antidotes to a few of these," Fred added. "And build up some word-of-mouth advertising while banging out a bit of market research at the same time."

Harry picked up a bright purple candy and sniffed it. "So, these actually work?"

"So far," George shrugged. "Right now we haven't moved past animal testing, but once we've figured out the proper dosages, we'll be looking for volunteers to test them out."

Harry hurriedly put the candy back down. "I'm going to say no in advance." The twins shared identical expressions of disappointment. "And what kind of animal testing?"

"Oh, well, that's actually a euphemism," Fred said with a wink. "George here is what the lovely female population would call a stallion-"

"And Fred's a lion, from what I've been told."

George waggled his eyebrows at Harry for good measure. Harry snorted.

They saluted him as he left the empty classroom they'd been meeting in. Getting updates about their joke shop was one of the few things Harry had insisted on when he agreed to front some money for the venture. They seemed to know what they were about, and there were more steps to move through to get to the point where they could start selling their products than Harry had imagined. It was entertaining and a good distraction.

He did have Quidditch practice to get to, though, and when he arrived, his teammates were already pulling on their gear. Harry sat down and strapped on his kneepads with haste, ignoring his normal locker in exchange for one that wasn't situated five feet from Draco's.

"Men! Focus!" Pucey, their Keeper and Captain, stood at the entrance to the showers, holding a whistle aloft as though he might blow it. Experience told them all to shut up and pay attention, immediately. The echo and the tile in here didn't create gentle acoustics. Harry felt his headache return at just the thought of it, and straightened up.

"Gryffindor House is vulnerable this year," Pucey told them. There was a murmur from the group. "They've lost their captain, and they are out of practice due to last term's... interruption."

The Slytherin team was just as out of practice, as Pucey (the replacement for the captain they'd lost) knew, but it was hardly relevant. It didn't matter to his mind that they weren't strong. Only that the opposition was weak. His leadership style was hardly a surprise.

The piercing blast of the whistle that came next was also very Pucey-like, and Harry scrambled with the rest of the team to finish changing and get out onto the field.

"This year we take the Cup, or I will personally spike every Slytherin Quidditch player's pumpkin juice with enough Impotency Elixir that your children's children will be sterile!"

There was sense in that threat somewhere, Harry was sure. He was switching to water until he found it, though.


	7. The Quill

"Have you been clearing your mind daily?"

"Yes, sir."

"And again at night before you sleep?"

"Every night."

"And you've been developing your thought-chains?"

"Yes."

Snape's gaze darted back and forth between Harry's eyes, and Harry felt himself begin Occluding automatically.

"Good," Snape said. "Where exactly do the headaches begin?"

Harry frowned and pressed his fingers against his own temples, and began pressing slowly along the width of his forehead until he reached what felt like the origin of the pain.

"Your scar."

Harry nodded and continued rubbing at the spot. Snape stood and swept over to his desk to thumb through a book that sat open on the surface.

"This is not ideal," Snape said. "To my knowledge, the Dark Lord does not know of the connection between the two of you."

Harry's eyes widened. "Sir?"

"As far as the headmaster and I have been able to surmise, your headaches last year correlated with the Dark Lord's gradual return to power. The Dark Lord was unaware of the connection as of less than a week ago, but if your headaches have returned, we can only suspect the worst."

"What should I do?" Harry asked, watching as Snape referenced the book again.

"For now," Snape said, glancing up at Harry, "Continue to clear your mind and practice your Occlumency, especially when you feel the beginnings of a headache. There are intelligent ways of exploiting this information, and there are thoughtless ways. Allow me to determine which is which before we move forward with any plan of action."

* * *

"It's absolutely useless, that's what it is."

Hermione threw her quill down on the table and glared at it for good measure.

"I agree," Harry said, throwing his own quill after hers perhaps a bit harder than necessary in support. "Defense is a joke this year."

As it was still the first week of school, the library was fairly empty but for Harry, his Gryffindor friends, and a few other frantic fifth and seventh years. Even Ron hadn't shown up today, leaving only Harry, Hermione, Neville and Dudley to their work.

"We'll never pass the O.W.L.s with lessons like these," Hermione muttered, pouring over the syllabus Harry had lent her. "Secure, risk free way, my foot."

Harry had another class with Umbridge later on today, and he wasn't looking forward to it at all. The only silver lining was that it was Friday, and though he'd probably spend the entire weekend doing homework, it was better than having to deal with the constant stares and whispers from the students and the pressure about O.W.L.s from the professors and Hermione.

"It's about more than just O.W.L.s, Hermione," Harry said, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his hands through his hair. "It's about being prepared if and when Voldemort stops hiding and starts killing people."

Neville twitched, and Harry frowned at him, misplaced anger boiling under his words. "It's true, Neville. I saw him."

"I know you did, Harry," Neville said with some surprise. "I didn't say you didn't. You caught me off guard with the name, that's all. I don't know anyone else who just blurts it out like that!"

Harry relaxed somewhat, and shrugged a little, still on edge but willing to be contrite. "Sorry, mate."

"I know it's about more than O.W.L.s, Harry," Hermione interrupted, still glaring at page after page of the syllabus. "Something has to be done. We can't waste a whole year we could be using to learn to defend ourselves, you're right. I'm going to find a way around this."

Hermione flipped the syllabus over and began scribbling on the back, grimacing every so often and glancing up at Harry, Neville and Dudley appraisingly once or twice. Knowing her, she'd not let them hear the end of it once she worked out a plan, so the other three left her to it and went back to their own work.

"We have more homework already in a week than we did in three last year," Neville said, flipping through his Transfiguration text woefully.

"This year is going to be awful," Harry agreed, still in a foul mood. He was working on Charms, personally. He glanced over at Dudley and realized his cousin wasn't using any books at all. Neville spotted this anomaly as well, and asked what Harry hadn't wanted to.

"What class is that for, Dudley?"

"Oh, it's a letter to my mum," Dudley explained. "Which reminds me. Hermione?"

Hermione glanced up, still mentally embroiled in whatever strategy she was concocting. "What?"

"Do you know if there's a post address muggles can use to send mail to Hogwarts, or do they have to use an owl?"

Blinking, she glanced from Dudley's inquiring expression to Harry's increasingly dark frown.

"I don't know, Dudley," she said slowly. "My parents always just use an owl. They bought one just to send me letters."

"That's odd," Neville joked, glancing uncomfortably around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. "Hermione not knowing something, I mean. Must be a first."

Harry stood up abruptly and gathered his things. "I had better get going," he explained when the three of them turned to him, startled. "I'll see you all later."

He took the time to Occlude as he left the library, though he wasn't certain if the headache he was experiencing at the moment was actually scar-based or not.

* * *

"Mr Potter, remove that unpleasant expression from your face at once."

Quite against his will, Harry's glare redoubled. He had been minding his own business, reading listlessly through the next chapter of Slinkhard's book and practicing nonverbal curses on a rolled up bit of parchment under his desk when Umbridge called him out. He might also have been glaring at her from time to time, but he hadn't disrupted the class in any way!

Umbridge frowned sternly at him. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Potter. Would you like to share with the class what has you in such a foul mood?"

"Harry," Blaise said out of the corner of his mouth. "Do not do it."

Harry managed to school his expression into neutrality and met her gaze. The rest of the class was watching by now, books happily forgotten in favour of this new drama.

"Nothing, professor," he managed to bite out. Umbridge raised an eyebrow at him from beneath a frilly purple bow.

"Did you disagree with something Mr. Slinkhard has to say about defensive measures?" she asked sweetly. Harry bristled, and Blaise jabbed him with his wand under the table, hard.

It was too late, though.

"Yes," Harry snapped. "Slinkhard doesn't sound like he's had to defend himself against anything more dangerous than a Puffskein in his entire life. We aren't going to learn anything about facing danger from him!"

"Do you expect to face danger in this classroom?" Umbridge sounded politely concerned. Beside him, Harry heard Blaise groan. All the other students were wearing absolutely impassive expressions, though their eyes darted back and forth between Harry and Umbridge as though watching a tennis match. At the next desk over, Pansy closed her eyes briefly, ashamed.

Harry knew he should stop himself, but he just couldn't. It had to be said.

"No! That's the whole problem! If we're not practicing, how are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves?"

Umbridge placed her hands on her desk and leaned forward. "Defend yourselves from what, Mr. Potter?"

"Harry, no," Blaise muttered. Harry opened his mouth, and despite all the hopes his friends had for him, said it.

* * *

"Detention!" Blaise exclaimed. "I can't believe you did that!"

"Did you expect me to just deny what happened last year?" Harry inquired, still outraged. They were in Care of Magical Creatures, but there was a substitute so the three of them stood toward the edge of the group and held their conversation in furious whispers while diagramming bowtruckles.

"Of course not," Pansy said. "But choose your battles! If we had to pick one person you shouldn't get into shouting matches with about the Dark Lord, just one, Harry, it would be the new Ministry plant who is both a professor and an unknown quantity! Shout at everyone else if you must! But not her!"

"But she said- I'm not lying!"

"We know that, Harry," Blaise said in a soothing voice. It struck Harry that he and Pansy were actually getting along for the moment, standing one on each side of Harry and berating him while pretending to pay attention to the lesson. It was almost a nice change of pace. They had been nearly unbearable since classes started again. "But this is not the way to convince anyone else."

"Well, what should I be doing to convince everyone else?" Harry asked. He raised an eyebrow at the extended pause that followed. "You don't have a clue, do you? Neither of you!"

"No, Harry, it's just-" Pansy paused, pursing her lips. "You need to keep your options open."

"That means you don't know," Harry pointed out, labelling one of his bowtruckle's legs with a flourish. "Neither of you has any clue what else I'm to do."

"That doesn't mean you should do this, Harry," Blaise tried to reason. "We've barely been back a week and you've got detention. At this rate, the rest of the year isn't looking good."

* * *

Harry sat down to detention determined to keep silent, if only because he'd promised Pansy and Blaise. That morning, there had been an article in the Prophet announcing Umbridge's promotion to High Inquisitor, and his friends were more determined than ever that he not catch her attention any more than he already had.

It was only lines, after all. It couldn't be too bad, even if the walls were covered with decorative plates with disturbing little kittens prancing around on them.

"Not with your quill," Umbridge told him. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point, and told him to write 'I must not tell lies' until it sunk in.

Harry had several rather rude responses in mind, but managed to keep himself silent and began to write instead.

A searing pain cut through his hand as he wrote the first letters. He gasped and paused, watching the lines of blood fade from his hand. The words appeared in red on the parchment, and Harry stared.

'I must' shone back at him in what was undoubtedly his own blood. Harry watched the blood dry on the parchment, and knew that if he looked up, Umbridge would have something to say. His mouth twisted, and he kept his head down. He traced the letters with care, thinking furiously as he split his own hand open.

This was not keeping his options open. If he had pushed himself into this battle of wills with Umbridge by being an idiot, then silently cutting his own hand open for lines was losing that battle.

He just couldn't think of anything he could do that would let him win.

Harry spent the night Occluding while he wrote, his resentment building with every slice of the quill into his skin. The Occlumency kept the pain manageable, and allowed Harry to focus on thinking of ways out of the situation. He couldn't come up with any, and the knowledge that he was currently helpless only stirred his ire further. Even going to Snape with this issue didn't seem wise, not now that Umbridge was High Inquisitor and had the power to sack any professor at will.

After he was finally let out of detention around midnight with an infuriatingly sweet goodbye from Umbridge, Harry stomped off in the direction of the dungeons, his temper at a boiling point. A loud meow cut off his internal rant, and Harry rounded a corner in time to see Mrs. Norris leaping down from a windowsill.

"Hey," he said ungraciously as the cat wound around his ankles, purring. He slid down into a crouching position against a nearby wall, in order to better waste time petting Mrs. Norris. He really didn't feel prepared to go back to Slytherin and face his friends with his hand still raw and smarting.

"What are you doing out of bed at this hour, Potter?"

Harry glanced up from Mrs. Norris. "Hello, Filch. I had detention with Umbridge. Just got out."

Filch nodded in comprehension. "That's right. She specifically refused to let me take it on."

"Did she?" Harry glared at the floor. "Maybe if you had told her you wanted to string me up by my ankles or something, she would have been more accommodating."

Filch perked up. "Is that so?"

Harry nodded jerkily and showed Filch his hand, explaining about the detention.

"I might go have a talk with this woman," Filch said, rubbing his chin. He looked far too excited for Harry's peace of mind. "It's about time someone brought back the old punishments, if you ask me. Put some murtlap essence on it, boy, it'll be fine."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"And I'll be wanting you to focus on the seventh floor this week," Filch said. "Peeves somehow got hold of a bucket of frog spleen."

The two of them shuddered in tandem. Harry felt a little more calm as he stood and bid Filch goodnight.

When he got back to Slytherin and Pansy asked him how detention had been, he told her he'd had to do lines, and left out any talk of cutting quills or his conversation with Filch.

"Just promise me you won't do anything to get another detention, Harry," she said, taking his hand and fixing him with a worried expression.

Harry managed to avoid calling attention to the raw skin on the back of his hand by not looking at it, and nodded. Like his friends always said, he was a Slytherin. He needed to act like one.

* * *

"Draco, could you tell Pansy that the only way her Vanishing Charm is going to work with that pronunciation is if she's trying to get rid of an etymographer?"

"Draco, could you please tell Blaise that if he has something to say about my charm work, he can come over here and I can practice it on him instead of this mouse? The mouse is unquestionably better company, at any rate."

Harry heard this exchange as he walked down the hallway from his dormitory to the Slytherin common room Sunday afternoon, and didn't so much as pause to glance at his friends as he made a beeline for the exit.

When he reached the library, a quick once over told him that Anthony and Luna were not in residence, and that Hermione had both Dudley and Neville near panic with whatever she was saying. Probably O.W.L. talk then.

Harry turned around and left the library. A quick glance out the window told him that it was unlikely that Hagrid had returned from wherever he'd gone, but then Harry hadn't really expected him back any time soon. Grubbly-Plank seemed to be settling into her position.

He Occluded automatically as a stress headache settled between his eyes. His hand still hurt, which only reminded him again how little he could do about Umbridge, and as he climbed a staircase, a solitary third year nearly toppled over the railing in his haste to get to a different staircase before Harry could come too close.

Harry reached the part of the seventh floor Filch had told him about earlier in the week. He could tell because there was frog spleen everywhere. On the floor and walls, on the portrait frames and the tapestries, and even on the high ceilings. Filch had obviously made progress at cleaning it all up, but only enough that Harry wasn't slipping in the stuff as he walked.

He cast a few perfunctory cleaning charms, cursed Peeves' name, spirit, and general appearance, and slid down a clean patch of wall to sit on the floor, which turned out to still be slick where Filch hadn't expected anyone to walk.

Having stood up and cleaned off his robes as best he could, Harry cast a wide reaching scourigify, hoping to get at least the top layer of the mess off the hallway. It looked marginally better, so Harry called it a day, pacing back and forth to be certain he hadn't missed any particularly offensive patches of spleen and thinking about how much he didn't want to be where he was. He just wanted to hide, really.

On his third turn through the hallway, a door appeared in the wall. Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at it, remembering that Filch had told him once about a rather fickle supply cupboard in this area of the castle. He had found it before, but it didn't look quite the same.

He pulled the door open and poked his head inside.

If this was a supply cupboard, it was very large and strangely stocked, Harry decided. The room was enormous, and filled to the brim with all manner of odd objects: furniture, books, boxes, statues and more were piled haphazardly as far as Harry could see.

Harry lifted the lid of a box that sat on a desk right near the entrance, and found a mystifying assortment of metal blocks. They looked like they fit together in some arrangement, but Harry didn't spend too long fiddling with them. He moved further into the room, avoiding a wobbling mountain of chairs and opening a cupboard to examine the contents.

He felt himself relaxing more and more as he investigated all the strange trinkets the room held. He relaxed even further when he found a solitary, comfortable couch sitting in the middle of an intersection in the mounds of stuff.

He would have to figure out how he'd found it, and come back some time.

* * *

Harry found himself in the library more often this year than any other, and given that he had always used it for socialising with his Gryffindor and Ravenclaw friends in addition to actual work, that was saying something. He might as well bring a pillow with him and sleep in the stacks by this point.

"I think a study group is a great idea," Neville said, scratching the back of his neck. "I need all the help I can get, myself."

Hermione beamed at him. "We'll need to meet somewhere we can practice spells," she said in an undertone. "I've been putting the word out that our first meeting will be in Hogsmeade; maybe someone will have some idea of where we can work. We'll need to be careful not to get caught. Umbridge wouldn't appreciate the implication, I don't think."

Ron grinned. "We could just owl her and explain outright that she's an awful teacher, if you think that'd go over better."

"You don't want detention with that woman, trust me," Harry said. "This is a great idea, Hermione."

"I'm glad you think so, Harry," Hermione said, leaning forward and fixing him with a hopeful smile. "Because I want you to be a big part of it."

Harry lifted an eyebrow and waited.

"I was thinking," she continued, sounding more hesitant now. "You get a lot of private tutoring from Snape, right?"

"Right," Harry said.

"And you're friendly with Professor Lupin, too," she said. "He must still have his lesson plans, don't you think?"

"It's possible," he allowed. "Just spit it out, Hermione."

"I was thinking you and I could sort of run the group together," she said in a rush. "You could write Professor Lupin and ask him for his lesson plans, and combined with the extra reading I've done and the tutoring you get from Snape, we'd be able to get a lot done. Obviously it would be a collaborative sort of group," she continued as Harry stared at her. "The sixth and seventh years especially would probably have a lot to teach. But I thought we could sort of guide it together until it gets off its feet."

Harry frowned. "I don't know, Hermione. I'm not exactly popular this year."

"Oh, but this could help change that, Harry!" Hermione pressed her hands against the table and nodded at him. "If people spent more time around you, they'd get to know the real you instead of the version they read about in the papers."

All his friends were trying to boost his PR, Harry realized. He wondered if Hermione and Pansy had sat down together over the weekend and had a conversation about his abysmal people skills.

Harry shook his head. "Fine," he said, to Hermione's obvious delight. "We can try it. I can't guarantee anything, though."

"I know, Harry," she said, scribbling something down on a sheaf of parchment in front of her. "Will you write to Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, alright," Harry sighed. Hermione beamed.


	8. The Ultimatums

Harry's owl returned from Remus and Sirius in early October with ruffled feathers and a generally disgruntled attitude.

"What happened, Loki?" Harry asked as he smoothed the feathers down and untied a thick scroll from his leg. It was unusual for his owl to deliver post after breakfast, but here he was, sitting on a windowsill and ruffling his feathers at Harry as he walked to Transfiguration.

The owl hooted and shifted irritably on his windowsill, favouring one wing. Harry cast him a concerned glance as he unrolled the parchment and skimmed through an incredibly tedious account of an argument Remus and Sirius had been having about the placement of tomatoes in their new vegetable garden.

Frowning, Harry rifled through the pages, noting that each one detailed another irrelevant story. Remus didn't mention anything Harry had written to him.

A code, then. By the amount of parchment, Remus must have sent the lesson plans. Harry rolled the parchment back up and stuck it in his pocket, turning his attention back to the bird.

"You alright?" he asked, reaching out to examine the wing. Loki hooted and flapped his wings at Harry, then shifted around to face the open window. Harry was stung until he realized that the position gave him a better view of the damage.

A few feathers were broken, but overall it seemed like the wing was alright. Loki seemed more angry than hurt, anyway.

"I'll take you to Grubbly-Plank and have her look at you," Harry decided, but Loki was too quick. With another sharp series of hoots, he took off out the open window, only compensating slightly on the one side.

Harry stared out the window after him, concern and suspicion twisting his insides. Nothing like this had ever happened to Loki before. He pulled himself away from the window and hurried to class, frowning and hoping his owl really was alright.

* * *

Later on that afternoon, Harry found Anthony and Luna at their usual spot, buried in a mountain of books and papers and looking entirely at home. He cleared off a chair and sat down, shifting a stack of books so that he wasn't sitting outside the mountain so much as in an adjacent foothill, with plenty of space of his own to expand.

"Hello, Harry. You're looking well today."

This from Luna, who Harry couldn't actually see. He finally spotted half her face through a gap in the books and grinned at her.

"You too, Luna," he said, leaning back in his seat and feeling his shoulders loosen a bit. "Have you both started the assignment for Charms?"

"I'm working on Potions right now," Anthony piped up from the other side of the table. "Charms is a lunchtime pursuit."

"I do Charms at sunset, myself," Luna acknowledged. "We can work on it together in half an hour or so if you like, Harry."

"Sounds good," Harry said, pulling his bag up from where he'd dropped it on the floor and sorting through it. He could finish his Care of Magical Creatures assignment in a half hour, easy.

The three of them fell into a companionable silence as they worked through the mountains of assigned (and optional) homework their professors had given them for the week.

Deep into an explanation of the sort of differences one could expect between a satyr and a porlock, and how to handle the latter, Harry almost didn't hear the polite cough behind him. He glanced toward the source of the sound and caught sight of blonde hair and a green and silver tie.

Harry repressed the urge to sink down in his seat and instead attempted to project an extraordinary focus on incredibly difficult homework by hunching over it and sticking his nose as far into his book as was still believable.

When the cough came again, Harry darted a glance to the left and saw that the source of the sound was still there. He looked back at his homework and gave up.

"Hi," he muttered, glancing briefly at his once-friend again. Draco looked more uncomfortable than Harry, but there was determination in the set of his shoulders that Harry's own defensive posture lacked.

"May I speak with you?" Draco asked, polite as a stranger. Harry bit his tongue and glared miserably down at his essay.

He didn't have to see the expression on Draco's face to know it was the one that meant he wasn't going to stop until he got his way. It was in his voice, and the brief snatch of body language Harry had caught when he looked over. It would be best to get this over with quickly.

That didn't mean he wanted to, though.

"I'm a bit busy," Harry said, still focusing on his work and ostensibly writing something about hooves. He'd probably have to erase it later. "O.W.L.'s, you know."

Draco hesitated. "It's been over a month since term started."

Harry tapped his quill in a staccato beat against his parchment, wondering what Anthony and Luna must think of this conversation. He could see Luna's forehead through the gap in the books, and she appeared for all intents and purposes to be ignoring them entirely. He couldn't see what Anthony was doing.

"Harry," Draco said, and Harry pushed his chair back abruptly.

"Fine," he said, striding past Draco toward the library doors, refusing to meet his eye. "Five minutes."

* * *

"I'm sorry," Draco said, once they were alone in an empty classroom. Harry paced through the empty desks and turned around in the middle of the room, crossing his arms. He hadn't panicked upon seeing Draco since that day on the train, but he was still a painful reminder of things Harry would rather not think about. As a result, he spent as little time in Draco's presence as possible.

"Okay," he said. Draco blinked.

"Okay?"

"Sure." Harry glanced away. "Can I go now?"

Draco frowned. "Are we alright?"

Harry stared at Draco's tie for a long minute, debating with himself. The truth won out in the end, and he looked Draco in the eye to say it. "Of course we're not. You... why would you even ask that?"

"Because, Harry!" Draco paused and lowered his voice when Harry glared at him. "I spent all summer miserable! My parents don't want me to talk to you anymore, you wouldn't answer my letters, I didn't know if you were okay-"

"Well I wasn't," Harry snapped. "And maybe you should take a hint. Sounds like you're getting enough of them."

Draco clenched his fists at his sides. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you've got a choice, Draco," Harry said, glaring at him from behind four rows of desks. "You can be your father's son. You can join Voldemort, get a tattoo." His voice wavered. "Or you can be my friend. You can't do both."

"Of course I don't want to join the Dark Lord!" Draco said, raising his voice again. "I never wanted to!"

"How am I supposed to believe that?" Harry yelled back. "Your father helped kill the Headmaster of Durmstrang! He stood there and told everyone how little use you had for me once you realized I wasn't going to join up!"

"That's not true!"

"How do I know that?"

Draco snarled. "Because we've been friends for years!"

"We haven't been friends for a long time, Draco," Harry said coldly. "I have every reason to doubt anything you say to me after last year."

Draco swallowed and clutched at the strap of his bag, suddenly lost for words. Harry didn't give him a chance to find them.

"Your parents or me, Draco," he said, taking the long way around to the door. "You can't have it both ways."

Draco blinked, his eyes going wide and frantic. "I can't choose between you and my parents!"

"And I can't trust you," Harry said. He felt like his chest might explode if he didn't leave soon. "I don't see how it's a difficult choice."

* * *

Harry regretted the conversation with Draco almost as soon as he was able to think clearly again. He had said some cruel things, and the worst part was that he had no intention of taking any of it back. It was all true.

The weekend was a welcome distraction. Hermione had set up a meeting for people who might be interested in joining their study group, and Harry was hoping it would go well. He was looking forward to getting back to real Defense.

After a few ridiculous suggestions from the Gryffindors about where and when the meeting should be held, it was decided that they would meet on the grounds, on the far side of the lake.

He and Pansy were the only two Slytherins to make an appearance, which wasn't a particular surprise. They walked together, arm in arm, toward the tree under which a large group of students had gathered.

"Look at all those people," Harry muttered under his breath.

They approached the large, chattering group with mild caution. They looked a lot more natural out here on one of the last relatively warm days of the year than they would have in a seedy pub in Hogsmeade. They weren't the only students outside enjoying the weather, and the way that everyone had clumped together in smaller groups made it questionable that they were all even together. Pansy cast an approving eye over the lot of them.

"And she wanted to meet in the Hog's Head," she said scornfully. "We might as well have put up a notice in the Great Hall."

Some of the students had noticed their arrival, and a murmur travelled through the group. Harry tried not to make eye contact with anyone he didn't already know. It was difficult, because they were all looking at him. Pansy put her nose in the air and dragged Harry over to sit with his Gryffindor friends with only a faint sneer.

Dudley, Ron and Neville were all crowded around Hermione. The twins were nearby, and next to them sat a group of students in Gryffindor colours, some of whom Harry vaguely recognised from Quidditch. Johnson, at least, was the new Gryffindor captain.

A smattering of Hufflepuffs sat furthest from Harry and Pansy, none of them pleased to see him if their expressions were anything to go by. Anthony and Luna sat closest to the Gryffindors, and were joined by several other Ravenclaws that Harry didn't necessarily recognise, Quidditch or no. Few of them seemed particularly inviting, though Padma Patil, the pretty Ravenclaw in his year who was sitting with her twin from Gryffindor, gave him hope with her comparatively neutral expression.

Harry thought about smiling at her, but Hermione chose that moment to clear her throat and start the meeting.

"H-hi, everyone," she said, nervous. The chattering died down as everyone shifted around to look at her. "You all know why you're here." She glanced at Harry, whose heart sank very definitively at the look she was giving him. "We had the idea that, that it might be a good idea if people who want to study Defense Against the Dark Arts, I mean, really study it, you know, not that rubbish Umbridge is doing with us-"

Harry listened as Hermione outlined her idea, gaining confidence as her audience proved responsive. And then, she said it.

"Because Lord Voldemort's back."

The response was immediate. Shudders, yelps, even physical recoiling. Harry realized suddenly that every eye was on him, and he turned his head very slowly to find that, yes, Hermione was staring at him too, her expression pleading.

He was going to kill her.

"Well... that's the plan anyway," she continued, still staring earnestly at him despite the fierce glare he was currently subjecting her to. She hadn't mentioned that 'helping with the study group' would mean using him as bait for members. "If you want to join us, we need to decide-"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" This from one of the Hufflepuff boys. Harry took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow at Hermione, maintaining a stubborn silence.

"Dumbledore believes it," Hermione began, only to be immediately interrupted.

"You mean Dumbledore believes that Slytherin over there," the Hufflepuff said, his voice ringing with skepticism. Harry, the Slytherin in question, stared stonily back at him. "I think we have a right to hear the story ourselves if we're being asked to believe it."

Hermione leaned forward. "Look-"

"I'm sorry," Pansy said pleasantly, leaning in front of Harry to get a better view of the Hufflepuff. "I might be mistaken, but I don't believe anyone asked your opinion, Macmillan."

The Hufflepuff, Macmillan apparently, glared at her. "I just think that we have a right-"

"No, you don't have a right," Pansy interrupted. "If Harry wants to tell you about what happened to him outside of the announcement Dumbledore made last year, then that's his privilege. And yours, if he was somehow potions-addled enough to decide to confide in a pompous, nouveau riche prick like yourself."

The expression on her face was one Harry hadn't seen in a long time. Most of his Pansy-instincts were telling him to apologise, back away, and avoid eye contact, but Macmillan wasn't quite that in tune with his self-preservation instincts.

Hufflepuffs.

"Dumbledore didn't tell us anything last year," Macmillan said, ignoring the insults. "Just that he got kidnapped and the Durmstrang headmaster got murdered and he fought You-Know-Who and escaped, which sounds like a load of rubbish to me."

"Right, where's the proof?" One of the Gryffindor boys Harry didn't know very well spoke up before Pansy or Harry could respond, ignoring twin glares from Dudley and Neville. "He told us what Potter told him. How do we know he didn't make it all up?"

"If he's not even willing to give us details, what else are we supposed to believe?" Macmillan's enthusiasm for the argument seemed to lift now that he had a vocal ally.

Pansy's eyes narrowed, but Harry was already too riled up to let that slide.

"He's right here, and I'm not lying," he sneered. "Excuse me for not wanting to go on and on about watching someone get murdered and someone else chop off their own hand and then nearly get killed myself! Anyone who does want to hear about things like that is a morbid git, in my opinion!"

Silence met these words, and Harry took a deep, calming breath. Everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. Macmillan opened his mouth again, but Hermione managed to beat him to it this time.

"Er... so, anyway," she said, trying to recapture the attention of the group. "like I was saying, if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to-"

"If there are going to be Slytherins in the group, then I'm not joining," the Hufflepuff announced, meeting Harry's glare with a foul one of his own. "If we're going to have to keep it a secret, we should be able to trust everyone involved."

There was a murmur of agreement from several other students, and Harry clenched his jaw.

"If you want to-"

"Of course Harry's trustworthy," Anthony said, unintentionally interrupting Pansy. It was probably for the best. She'd looked about ready to rip Macmillan's tongue right out of his mouth. "His House is irrelevant. He has never given any indication of Dark tendencies or even maladaptive social behaviours. Over the course of our friendship, his most pressing motivations have often centred around caring for his friends and family, and he is unusually academically inclined for a non-Ravenclaw." He glanced around at the group and delivered the final blow. "He visited my home over break in third year, and he didn't steal or curse a single thing."

Anthony nodded and leaned back in the grass as though the matter were settled. Harry could personally have done without that last bit, but he was appreciative of the vote of confidence all the same.

"...he's a Parselmouth, though, isn't he?"

"I don't see how that's relevant, considering-" Pansy began, but she was interrupted.

"Right, and isn't his godfather that convict, Sirius Black?" A different Gryffindor from the last time, though he at least quailed under the Weasley twins' disapproval.

"Sirius is innocent, Lee," Hermione said firmly, frowning. "The Wizengamot pardoned him."

More and more of them were muttering amongst themselves, even as those of the group that considered themselves friendly with Harry tried to defend him. Dudley looked ready to hit one of his dormmates. Pansy and Macmillan were sneering insults at each other.

Harry was starting to feel cornered.

"He's a Slytherin, that's proof enough right there-"

Finally, he gave in and stood up.

"You know what?" Harry stood up and brushed off his knees, scowling. Pansy jumped to her feet and glared daggers at the lot of them. "Fine. I won't be in your bloody group, since I'm clearly not welcome."

"Harry!" Hermione stood too. "Of course you're welcome! I have-"

Harry shook his head several times. "I'm not. And I don't want to work with people who are just going to spend all their time glaring at me and asking me questions I'm not going to answer."

He stormed away with what little dignity he had left. Pansy hurried to keep up with him, still spitting mad.

"I'm going to put something in Macmillan's drink at breakfast tomorrow," Pansy said darkly. "He'll think twice before calling me a shrew again."

Harry rubbed his face, miserable. "Just don't kill him. Or get caught, actually."

"Of course not," Pansy said, taking his arm. She glanced back at the sound of footsteps behind them.

"Thanks for the support," she said. Harry looked back as well, and tried to smile as Anthony and Luna caught up with them.

"Simply outrageous," Anthony declared. "Hermione has a lot on her plate with that group."

"We won't be involved, of course," Luna agreed. "The number of wrackspurts they would attract with their small-minded accusations is unthinkable."

"Thanks, Luna," Harry said, sinking down to sit under another tree, much closer to Hogwarts than the one where the other students still gathered. "Thanks, Anthony. I should have known, honestly. Hermione wouldn't have gotten that many people to show up without something more than extra homework to offer."

Pansy knelt down in the grass next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "That cow will pay, Harry, don't worry."

Harry shook his head. "Leave her alone. I want to yell at her myself. It's the rest of them that were really awful, anyway."

"And they'll regret it," Pansy said with conviction. Her retributive form of comfort actually made Harry feel a bit better, against all odds.

The group of them sat together under the tree for another fifteen minutes while Harry tried to pretend he wasn't sulking. Anthony and Luna excused themselves after a little while, and Pansy and Harry stood up to go back inside, uninterested in the nice weather now that the day had been spoiled.

Harry nearly tripped over himself when they passed by the lake just in time to see Padma Patil and her twin sister leaving the meeting, engaged in what looked like intense conversation. Pansy let go of his arm with an amused smile, just in time for Padma to glance up and meet his eye. Her expression had been neutral all through the meeting, but now she gave him a very small, sympathetic smile.

Harry blinked at her and nodded, feeling like an idiot. She looked back at her sister a second later, and Pansy elbowed him gleefully.

"When did that happen, then?" she asked. Harry smiled a little bit, watching the sisters walk away.

"Just now, I guess." He felt a bit lighter, suddenly.

* * *

Snape paced back and forth behind his desk in his office after midnight later on that week. Harry perched in his usual chair and tried to keep his hands from shaking enough to swallow a calming draught.

"Describe this nightmare for me in detail," Snape demanded. Harry looked up and met Snape's eyes, and felt better for it.

"V-voldemort was furious," Harry began tentatively. Snape stopped his pacing and waited. "Quirrell was there. He was mad because Quirrell almost got caught trying to break in somewhere. He... he cursed him with something I didn't recognise."

Snape didn't pursue the foreign magic, to Harry's relief. The results had been gruesome. "Where were they?"

Harry frowned and swallowed. "They were, er, in a room with a fireplace. That huge snake of his was there too. You- why does it matter?"

"I have explained your connection to the Dark Lord in the past," Snape said, resuming his pacing. "My concern is that this is a further display of that connection."

"So... so you think my nightmare was real," Harry asked, horrified when Snape nodded.

"I do," Snape allowed. "We would like for you to avoid the experience in the future."

Harry nodded. He was on board with that plan. "What do I do?"

"We'll discuss it in more detail tomorrow, as it is quite late and you have classes tomorrow," Snape said. "We will build a space in your mind where the Dark Lord's connection can be safely contained, so that if the Dark Lord does attempt to breach your defences, he will find only what you wish to show him."

Harry took a large gulp of his water and tried not to think about Voldemort having what essentially amounted to a guest bedroom inside Harry's head. "Yes, sir."

"Get some sleep, Mr. Potter," Snape said finally, pausing to watch as Harry climbed to his feet. "We will meet tomorrow, at the usual time."

* * *

The next day proved daunting from the moment Harry rolled out of bed and saw that Draco was already headed for the showers. He ended up waiting around for a chance to use the bathroom without having to interact, and missed breakfast as a result.

Hermione was currently trying to figure out a way to work around the newest bit of news from Umbridge, the High Inquisitor. Apparently word had gotten out about the meeting over the weekend, because yesterday morning had brought with it an 'Educational Decree' disbanding all student groups pending the approval of the Inquisitor.

"I don't know who could have said anything," Hermione said for the fourth time as they walked to class together Tuesday morning. "I had everyone sign our paper, even you and Anthony and Pansy and Luna. The four of you were the only ones who got away without signing it at the actual meeting, and none of you would have said anything, of course."

"And the whole point of meeting in the open like that was to be sure you could see everyone who might be listening," Harry agreed. "It's a bit of a trick."

"We'll figure it out," Hermione said. "We just have to find a place to meet where she won't find us."

Harry personally couldn't care less about where a group of people who hated him decided to practice magic, and said so.

"Harry, they don't all hate you," Hermione insisted. "Quite a lot of the people in the group are friends of yours or ours. The rest will come around. You didn't hear what happened after you left."

They'd had this conversation already, the first time Harry yelled at her for what happened at that meeting. According to Hermione, the heated argument that had been going on while Harry sat and listened only got more heated after he left, on both sides.

"Half of them are hardly willing to be within ten feet of me without having their wands out, Hermione. It's nice that my friends haven't turned on me too, but that doesn't change the fact that I don't want any part in this group."

Hermione stopped in the middle of the hall and clutched her books to her chest. "Oh, but you promised you'd let us use those lesson plans, Harry!"

Harry thought about telling her to get her own lesson plans, but he could see how much stress the very idea of it was causing her. Hermione hadn't stopped looking harried since they stepped off the train at the beginning of term.

"Still getting in an hour here and there for those naps?" he asked instead. Hermione blinked at him and coloured.

"...not as often as I probably should," she admitted. The chain for her time turner glinted at her collar, and Harry raised his eyebrows. "I've been using them for studying instead."

They started walking again. "You know you shouldn't," Harry said, and relented. "Of course you can still use the lesson plans."

"Thank you so much, Harry!" Hermione said, giving him a quick hug. She let go and paused, looking over his shoulder. "Er, listen, I have to, ah... talk to Professor Babbling before class, okay?"

She smiled at him and dashed off, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway staring after her.

"She looked like she was in an awful hurry." Harry glanced away from Hermione's retreating back and saw that Padma Patil was standing next to him, head tipped slightly to one side as she watched her go.

He nearly dropped his books.

"S-she, yes," he stuttered. "She was, yes."

"Ancient Runes?" she asked, giving him a small smile. Harry nodded, though he managed to make himself stop before he looked too foolish. "We'll be late if we don't get going."

"Right," Harry said, and, incredibly, they fell into step and walked together toward the staircase. Ancient Runes was on the next level, and Harry had never been more grateful for moving staircases than he was right now. The wait gave him a chance to pull himself together and find something to say.

"Do you like Ancient Runes?" he asked, glancing at her and quickly looking away when she noticed. She tucked a silky lock of hair behind her ear and answered.

"Well enough," she said. "I like Arithmancy better, though. Parvati thinks I'm insane, but there you go."

Harry nodded. "Your sister?"

"My twin sister, yes."

The staircase arrived, and they stepped onto it in tandem. Harry struggled to come up with another comment while ignoring the mental war going on in his head because he was talking to Padma Patil and he was going to screw it up and say something stupid, he needed to run away now, but she was looking at him and he had to stay for that.

"We both thought it was horrid, what Ernie said about you," Padma told him halfway up the stairs, which stopped his mental self-beration entirely.

"You did?" Harry's day was suddenly looking a lot better.

"We did," Padma confirmed. "Of course you don't want to talk about what happened. I wouldn't want to either. You looked like a wreck last term."

Harry scrubbed at the back of his neck and looked at her while she adjusted her bag busily. Her cheeks were slightly tinged with pink.

"What I meant," she said after a moment, "Is that I don't think you're a liar at all."

Harry found himself smiling more genuinely than he had in a few weeks. "Thanks," he said. "That's, that really... Thank you."

She nodded at him and gave him a small smile in return as they reached the classroom and parted ways at the door. Hermione was sitting in her usual spot, and gave him a look when he sat down next to her.

"Padma says she believes me," Harry said with a beatific smile. "She likes Arithmancy and she believes me."

"That's wonderful, Harry," Hermione said, and if she looked amused, Harry didn't care.


	9. The Lines

Despite the bright spots in his days that were Padma smiling at him from across a classroom or as they passed in the hallways, the stress of the year was still getting to Harry.

That was the explanation he gave, anyway, when Pansy and Blaise cornered him separately to express their disappointment when he received an entire week's worth of detentions from Umbridge in November. In truth, he found that he just couldn't stand the awful woman, and he couldn't always let her comments slide off his back.

By the end of the week, the back of Harry's hand had stopped healing entirely, and by Friday when Umbridge pronounced the detentions at an end with a satisfied smile, the blood dripped steadily down his fingers. He waited until he'd left her office to stem the flow with a handkerchief, choosing instead to deliberately drip blood onto her rug. It was the little things that got him by this year.

There wasn't going to be any hiding this from his friends anymore, Harry realised as he held his hand under the cold tap in the boy's bathroom and waited for the bleeding to abate. Lines, indeed.

Sure enough, Pansy was less than pleased when Harry came upon her in the Slytherin common room, where she'd been talking with one of the older Slytherin boys. She quickly dismissed him and pulled Harry down onto the couch when she spotted his bloodstained handkerchief.

"She had you carve your own hand open?" she asked, outraged. "How archaic! You have to tell Snape."

"I thought you said I should keep my head down until we know how to handle her," Harry said sullenly as she turned his hand over in hers, examining it from every angle to be certain there wasn't any other damage.

"Yes well, that plan failed." She gave his hand back and frowned at him. "So now we'll have to do damage control, and Professor Snape will know better than we would how we should go about it."

"If he tries anything, she'll just sack him," Harry argued, more out of irritation than anything else. "Head Inquisitor, remember?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Snape is cleverer than that, Harry. He's not going to get himself fired."

Up in the dormitory, Harry found that Blaise had the same advice. The two of them huddled behind the curtains in Harry's bed, Blaise examining him with as much concern as Pansy had not twenty minutes ago.

"We have to tell Snape," Blaise said as he let go of Harry's hand. Harry nodded, leaning back against one of the posts at the foot of his bed. "He'll fix things so that Umbridge doesn't have a leg to stand on, you'll see," he continued. "And he'll have advice for you, too. He's good with things like this, you know that."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. Snape would probably end up finding out anyway. Harry might as well tell him and save himself a lecture on coming to Snape when he had problems. "So... If you don't mind my asking..." Harry paused. Blaise and Pansy hadn't been quite so intolerant of each other recently. Now was a prime opportunity, if ever. "What happened with you and Pansy, anyway?"

Blaise lifted his eyebrows in a parody of shock. "You actually want to know?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Harry," Blaise drawled, settling back on Harry's pillows and stretching out his legs, "That you never showed an interest in our relationship at all. Even when it was a relationship. Pansy and I wondered if you were trying to pretend it wasn't happening for a while, until we remembered you really are just that oblivious."

"I knew you were dating!" Harry said, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and hoping Blaise couldn't see it. The skeptical lift of his eyebrow suggested otherwise, however, and Harry rushed to defend himself. "You'd been dating since at least the Christmas holidays."

"Late November, actually," Blaise said, though he lowered his eyebrow. "Do you know how we started dating?"

Harry faltered. He had thought they'd gotten together at the Yule Ball.

"Didn't think so." Blaise paused, and folded his hands together. "It was an epic story, Harry. It started in the middle and everything."

Harry blinked. Blaise rolled his eyes. Thus prompted, Harry asked, "How did it happen?"

"Bagman called her an ugly cow in my hearing." Blaise grinned a little. "Not in hers, though, else she'd have ripped him to pieces, naturally."

Harry grinned back. "Naturally."

"I don't know why he said it, actually," he paused. "Probably she was being Pansy, you know. It didn't matter at the time. Anyway, I went up to him and made a bet-"

"That's what that was all about?" Harry interrupted, sitting forward. "I remember you did that. Then Pansy made sure he was doomed by making her bet, and-"

"It was our first shared hobby as a couple," Blaise said with a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "We didn't ruin him, you know. He did it to himself, even without our bets. He got in too deep with the goblins."

Harry shook his head, wanting to be shocked but not quite able to muster it. "So what happened?"

Blaise sobered. "Oh, well, the stress of the summer, you know. We had a pretty big argument, and after that, we started owling each other instead of flooing or visiting. It sort of went downhill from there."

Harry nodded, watching Blaise look down at his hands with an unhappy twist to his mouth.

"You're bleeding on your sheets," Blaise said eventually. Harry glanced down and rewrapped his handkerchief more securely around his hand.

"Sorry," Harry said. Blaise shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder.

"They're your sheets," he said, and disappeared through Harry's curtains to his own bed.

* * *

It turned out that Harry got his lecture from Snape anyway.

"Skeeter has been rather restrained in the past few months." Snape noted as he and Harry circled each other in the open space at the front of the professor's desk.

Harry fixed his eyes below the level of Snape's chin, Occluding fiercely. He had to jump quickly in the next second to throw up a shield before Snape's curse hit.

"As it is unlikely she is simply on vacation, or refraining from commenting on the most recent round of speculation about yourself and the headmaster out of the goodness of her heart, I must wonder what has silenced her."

"Well..." Harry said, buying time by cursing the stone under Snape's feet to crumble and scatter in the air in front of his face while he stumbled. He followed that up with a disarming spell, which Snape deflected back at him.

Harry managed to block it in time, and continued. "Maybe she just realized it would be bad for her career."

Snape's eyes narrowed and spelled the chair behind Harry to attack him. "And who in this hypothetical situation of yours helped her to realize that?"

Harry hesitated, and found himself suddenly dangling upside down in the air as Snape advanced on him.

"Blaise and Pansy and I," he admitted, knowing that Snape wouldn't tolerate misdirection just now. Snape blinked at him slowly. "We found out she's an unregistered animagus. She's not going to publish anything for another year."

"Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, watching as Harry struggled to get himself down. It was like Snape was holding the spell in place, so that Harry's attempts at the countercurse had no effect. "When I told you to bring problems to me, what had we just finished speaking about?"

Harry looked up at his feet. It was a strange angle. "We were talking about Skeeter."

"And now you have 'dealt' with her alone once more, against my express wishes. I do not wish to take points from Slytherin, Mr. Potter, but if you continue to make foolish decisions, I will have no choice."

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." He cast around for something to lessen the heavy feeling in his chest. Snape was shockingly good at making him feel guilty about things he hadn't thought twice about doing at the time. "I do have a problem I wanted to talk to you about, actually." He held out his hand where the blood quill had left a raw tracing of his lines. "I don't know what to do about this."

As he explained, Harry felt Snape's hold on the spell ease, and he managed to right himself and sit down in the chair that had been attacking him not ten minutes ago. The duel was over now.

Snape examined Harry's hand with expressionless eyes, and once Harry finished his tale, stood and selected a small bottle from the many that sat on shelves behind his desk.

"That isn't murtlap essence, is it?" Harry asked hopefully. The student stores had been out for the past week, and Harry had really been wanting to try out Filch's suggestion.

"It is," Snape said, looking almost surprised. "Finally doing the extra readings in Potions, Mr. Potter?"

"I've just heard it helps," Harry said hastily. If he said yes, Snape would want to discuss the reading, which was not on Harry's agenda for tonight or any other night when all the professors, Snape included, were assigning so much O.W.L. work already.

Snape handed Harry the bottle and a small cloth to soak in the essence. Harry draped the cloth over his hand and felt the irritation wane immediately. He had nearly stopped noticing it until it was gone.

"Unfortunately, as High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge has unprecedented power here at Hogwarts," Snape said, turning the conversation back to Harry's initial concern. "The wisest course of action at the moment is to avoid angering her entirely." Snape's dark eyes glittered. "Consider it good practice in self restraint and maneuvering."

"At the moment, you said," Harry pointed out hopefully. He didn't think he could handle an entire year of Umbridge calling him a liar without snapping. A single class period was difficult enough. Snape paused.

"At the moment," he agreed. "There will undoubtedly come a time when more outward action should be taken, and we'll be prepared precisely because we did not waste our efforts where they would not be of use. And Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up at the sardonic lilt to Snape's voice.

"Sir?"

"I can promise you that when that time comes, I will let you know. If you do not heed my advice, it will be on your own head."

Harry nodded. He'd begun to understand the difference between times when Snape reading his mind and when he was just being uncanny. This was one of the latter situations.

* * *

The Gryffindor/Slytherin match was always the most competitive of the quidditch season. Harry never quite knew how to deal with the rivalry, since he had friends not only in Gryffindor, but on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as well. Usually, when the Slytherins went down to heckle the Gryffindors at practice, he joined them but kept fairly quiet.

But when they were playing, it didn't matter who they were playing against. Harry played his best every time. In the past, that had been good enough for Flint.

Now that Pucey was captain, of course, he had something to say about it.

"Potter, we're going to win this match today," Pucey said, towering over Harry and glaring down at him.

"Of course we are," Harry said promptly. Pucey's eyes narrowed.

"I don't care if you're a traitor to the House," he said. "You won't be a traitor to this team, or you'll be off it faster than you can say 'accidental' foul."

Harry straightened up and glared right back. "I am not a traitor to the House or the team! I've been flying for Slytherin since my second year, and we haven't once lost to Gryffindor!"

Pucey sneered. "All I'm saying is, make sure that doesn't change, and you and I won't have a problem. And another thing." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Keep your fucking head down, Potter. We don't need our chances ruined because you're in detention with Umbridge during a match."

Pucey turned on his heel and left Harry seething at his locker where he had been strapping on his gear not two minutes prior. The other members of the team ignored Harry as he finished dressing and left the locker room.

It was a good thing being Seeker was a solitary role, Harry thought as he rose above the other players at the whistle. If he'd been a Beater, or, Merlin forbid, a Chaser, they would have lost for sure, because the only person on the team willing to look at Harry without suspicion or irritation was Draco.

At least Fred and George over on the Gryffindor team were willing to give him a grin whenever he happened to cross their paths. Ginny, their little sister, was playing Seeker for their side.

She wasn't half bad, Harry decided as he swooped down on the Snitch with her hot on his heels and snatched it up. She'd probably win against the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Seekers, seeing as how the old ones had been seventh years last year and needed replacing.

His victory was fairly anticlimatic, as he wasn't exactly in the mood for celebrating what with Pucey's anti-pep-talk before the game. Harry landed his broom amidst cheers from the Slytherin stands and dropped the Snitch into Hooch's hands with a brief nod as he passed, headed for the showers and a good sulk.

* * *

Hermione's study group had become a big success. She'd come up with these clever little galleons that gave both the time of the next meeting and the room number of whichever abandoned classroom they were using, which allowed the group to be fairly secretive about their movements and keep under Umbridge's radar.

Harry, of course, wasn't going. He heard about what they'd been practicing when Hermione and the others thought he might be in a good enough mood to hear it, but otherwise he stayed out of it. He was sick of hearing Hermione apologising every other sentence, frankly.

Anthony and Luna had actually refused to join the group in protest. Harry thought they might be his heroes for it, and told them so.

"As long as we have your lesson plans, Harry, we don't really need the group," Anthony explained. "It'd be nice, you understand, but not necessary. We can practice together."

"We can," Luna agreed. "Though we should be careful to meet irregularly, or Professor Umbridge might find out and set the Ministry heliopaths on us."

Harry nodded and watched absently as Anthony jotted down her words on a bit of parchment, which he stuck in his pocket.

They were actually outside. Harry had discovered a written version of Anthony's personal O.W.L. schedule in the back of one of his books, and was delighted to find that it accounted for a twenty minute study break right before dinner every Tuesday and Thursday. He took shameless advantage and suggested a walk around the lake. Once Anthony had been roped into going, it took very little to convince Luna to join them. On Thursday, he planned to take them to the Quidditch pitch.

"Oh look, the thestrals are out. Has anyone got any raw meat?"

Harry looked where Luna was pointing and saw several of the skeletal horses grazing near the edge of the forest.

It was good to know he wasn't the only one who could see them. Several of his other friends had given him funny looks for mentioning them already.

"Yes, Luna, Harry and I carry raw meat with us at all times," Anthony said with a small smile. "We are prepared for any and every eventuality."

"Speak for yourself," Harry said. "I'm not the one who has a minute to minute daily schedule. I can go to the bathroom at any time, day or night. I don't have to wait until six forty five like some people I know."

"Harry, I told you, it's a shifting schedule," Anthony said patiently. "That's why things move, you see? It just helps to ensure that I use my time efficiently."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavily marked sheet of parchment that comprised his weekly schedule, and the three of them paused near a copse of trees as Anthony demonstrated the malleability of his routine.

"You see, if I find that I need more time to work on Potions on Wednesday, then I can just move some of my Potions time from Thursday, and on Thursday, I'll be sure to complete the unused Transfiguration minutes."

He used his wand to move the little blocks of minutes around on the parchment to demonstrate just that.

"Okay," Harry said, fascinated. He pulled out his wand. "I had actually wondered about that. So, if I take this free time from Monday morning and replace it with... hmm... Wednesday's dinner, and then use that time for Charms, then you and I have enough time on Thursday to have a pickup match!"

Anthony stared at his newly organised schedule. "Harry, I can't eat Wednesday's dinner at seven am on Monday morning."

Harry glanced at Luna, who was examining the schedule as well. "Of course you can't, Anthony," she said, lifting her own wand. "Instead, you move Wednesday's dinner to Tuesday night, and eat both dinners then. You can make inquiries with the house elves. From there, you can use your Monday morning for multiple bathroom breaks, and look! That's another twenty minutes for Harry's quidditch."

Harry and Luna beamed at each other, then at Anthony. He did not share in their amusement. "I deplore you both," he said, poking at his ruined schedule. "You're lucky I have another copy of this."

"About that," Harry said, and pulled from his pocket the copy he had discovered in the back of Anthony's schoolbook. Anthony's eyes went wide, and he reached for it. Harry backed away and grinned at him.

"You don't get enough exercise, Anthony!" Harry said, and began to jog backward away from him and Luna. Anthony followed unwillingly.

"If I run in a few circles, will you give it back?" he asked. Harry feigned a moment of serious thought, and while he wasn't paying attention, Anthony tackled him.

"Hey!" Harry shouted as Anthony plucked the schedule neatly from his hands and settled down comfortably on Harry's upper back to put it away. Luna appeared and sat down in front of Harry's head as he tried unsuccessfully to find the leverage needed to push Anthony off.

"Since when does Anthony tackle people?" Harry asked Luna. He still hadn't quite processed the fact that Anthony was sitting on him. She shrugged.

"We read Machiavelli a few weeks ago," she said, as though that explained everything.

"It was a preemptive strike, Harry," Anthony agreed from where he sat. "One you were woefully underprepared for."

"I'll get you next time," Harry grumbled, settling his chin on his arms and wondering if he could catch Anthony off guard right now. Probably not, since they'd just been talking about being unprepared.

"I'm sure you will, Harry," Luna said. She even patted him on the head.

* * *

Harry didn't know how Draco had been doing since they'd last spoken, aside from the little updates that Pansy insisted on dropping into conversation, like 'Draco's been writing to his parents more often than usual', and 'Draco has been looking ill recently.'

So one morning, when Harry finished knotting his tie and turned away from his wardrobe to find Draco standing awkwardly by the door, the first thought he had was that Pansy had been right. Draco wasn't looking well at all. His second thought was less a thought and more of a sinking feeling.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked, shifting to put one shoulder in front of the door. Harry crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"What do we have to talk about?" he asked. Draco cleared his throat.

"I've been thinking about what you said," he began, crossing his arms as well. "And I had an idea."

Harry waited in silence.

"I want you to tell me what I can do to make you less angry with me," Draco continued, looking anywhere but at Harry, which meant that he missed the way Harry frowned at him.

"I'm not angry at you." Draco glanced up and lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I am. But that's not the problem. I just don't want to be friends anymore, that's all."

Draco's arms dropped to his sides, and his mouth fell open. "Why not? I'll fix it, I promise!"

"How are you supposed to fix it? Your father-"

"Stop bringing up my bloody father!"

"He's half the problem, Draco!" Harry yelled, letting his bag fall next to his feet with a thump. "No, he's the entire problem! I understand that he's your dad, but you can't do the things he wants you to do and still expect me to want to be your friend! He would have killed me if he had the chance!"

"I don't want to join the Dark Lord," Draco said firmly, looking Harry straight in the eye. "I told my father that. I've told him a dozen times already."

"And he keeps asking, doesn't he?"

"And I keep saying no!"

"Must not be a very clear 'no'," Harry pointed out. "If he keeps asking."

Draco opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Eventually he found something to say. "I can't choose between you and my parents. My mother has nothing to do with this."

The miserable expression Draco was wearing finally made Harry relent, just a little. "Then I'm not talking about her," he said. "I'm talking about you expecting us to still be okay when you're siding with people who tried to kill me, Draco."

Draco swallowed. "But I'm not."

"I'd say 'prove it', but I don't know how I'd ask you to," Harry said. He glanced at his watch. "Breakfast is nearly over."

He waited until Draco stepped out of the way to cross to the door and leave. Pansy and Blaise were waiting down in the common room, and when they saw his face, Blaise followed him out into the hall and let him have his silence for the entire walk to Transfiguration.


	10. The Room

It was still only November, but Harry was already looking forward to the winter holidays. He had every intention of getting as far away from Hogwarts as possible, and Sirius and Remus had accommodated his plans by inviting him to spend Christmas with them in Devon.

Until then, Harry did what he could to avoid the giant ball of stress that his friends and classes had become. He spent a lot of time finishing homework on his own, cleaning for Filch, and trying to find that storage room on the seventh floor again, where he'd at least been able to sit down and relax without the glares of half the school on him.

He'd long since finished cleaning up Peeves's mess in the hall that he'd found the room in, across from a tapestry of trolls attempting ballet, but he continued to loiter there sometimes, trying to work out the trick that would let him get in. The Maurader's Map was no help; either they hadn't discovered this room, or they just hadn't felt the need to provide any hints. Harry wasn't asking. He liked the idea of figuring it out on his own.

Though he wasn't a pacer by nature, Harry decided he had to do something to express his annoyance with the process. He'd examined every square inch of the wall in that hallway, and even parts of the floor. He'd asked the trolls, who were very put out when he interrupted their practice. Some of the threatening gestures they'd made would have alarmed Harry had they been actual, full sized trolls.

So Harry paced. He grumbled, too, while he was at it, and even left the corridor entirely, peering out a nearby window. He didn't think any of it would help, honestly, especially not the window. He was just frustrated.

When he came back and the door was there, he brightened and pulled it open. It was the same storage room as before, and Harry grinned stupidly at the piles and piles of stuff until it occurred to him that he still had no idea how he'd made it appear.

"Bugger," he muttered, and went inside anyway.

He poked around for a while, amusing himself by digging through boxes, smirking at old robes and, in the case of one cabinet, shielding his face as an avalanche of old quills showered him like a particularly pointy exploded down pillow.

Harry found a mountain of desks that was nearly as tall as the stacks and stacks of chairs near the door. This was more sturdy, though, and there was an interesting purple something about halfway up the pile, so Harry climbed.

It was a stuffed dragon, old and dusty, with some of the batting poking out. It stared up at him with a woeful expression and flapped its wings pitifully. Harry tried not to appear visibly amused since that seemed rude somehow, but he did cast a charm to fix the hole in its left wing. He'd never seen a wizarding stuffed animal before.

Back down on ground level, Harry wandered through the maze of old, abandoned stuff until he found the door again. He wanted to figure out how he'd managed to find the entrance so that he could come back.

* * *

It turned out that the window had nothing to do with getting inside the room, which was a pity, as that seemed like a particularly easy way to go about things. From what Harry could tell, it was actually the pacing that had done it. That and glaring at the space where the door was supposed to be.

The glaring probably wasn't necessary, but Harry didn't know that for sure as he hadn't yet managed to get the door to appear without it. He figured there was nothing wrong with playing it safe.

Now that he knew how to get the door to appear on command, Harry wanted to show someone else. It was a fascinating discovery, after all, and he knew several of his friends would be interested.

Except, he didn't know who to invite.

Hermione was out. She talked about that study group of hers enough that Harry wasn't predisposed to show her the room. She might want the group to meet there, and then Harry would never be able to use it. He'd found it, not them, and they weren't going to oust him.

Speaking with Dudley was either infuriating or depressing, depending on the day, and Harry didn't really want to deal with it right now. The same went for Neville and his intermittent Hermione-induced panic attacks over the O.W.L.'s.

His Slytherin friends were little better. Pansy and Blaise were less likely to garotte each other in the hallway recently, but things were still stilted and awkward there, and Harry didn't want to be seen as choosing sides if he showed one of them and not the other.

Anthony and Luna were still faithfully spending most of their time on homework, but they were at least bearable to be around during their breaks.

In fact, they could probably be convinced to take one soon, if Harry made a sufficiently tempting offer.

Harry set off for the library in a better mood than he'd been in for a few days. When he got there, he deftly avoided the Gryffindor table by taking a detour through the Divination section, which Hermione never bothered to use, and which led right to Anthony and Luna's usual table.

It was shockingly empty. Harry checked his watch, and tried in vain to remember what it was Anthony usually did on Wednesdays at four thirty. He knew it wasn't a study break, but it could very well be Potions or Defense, neither of which he worked on in the library.

"If you're looking for Anthony Goldstein, he's in the common room. I saw him on my way out."

Harry looked up at the voice, which turned out to belong to Padma Patil. He blushed and mentally groped around for something to say.

"T-that's unusual," he said finally, readjusting his bag.

Padma shrugged and stepped around the table, holding a pile of Charms books against her chest.

"He needed to use one of our reference books," she explained. "They're charmed so they can't leave the Tower."

"Oh," Harry said, nodding and mentally berating himself. What kind of response was 'oh'?

Padma didn't seem bothered. "Did you need him for anything in particular?"

"Oh, I, er..." Harry pulled himself together. "I just wanted to show him something interesting I'd found, that's all. Get him out of the library."

"A noble, if foolish pursuit," she said. Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he nodded again. He felt like he might be acting like an idiot. "We can go get him, if you like," she offered, and it took Harry a second to realize what she was suggesting.

"Up in Ravenclaw Tower?" he asked. "Yeah, that's- if you don't mind, sure. Thanks!"

Harry waited while Padma checked out her books out and packed up her satchel, and they left the library together. He tried to surreptitiously dry his hands, which were sweaty, and check that his hair wasn't too messy in a window as they passed. It was a lost cause, as usual.

They walked in silence for nearly two floors, until Padma gave Harry a small smile and took pity on him. "Have you started that translation for Babbling, yet?"

"I haven't finished it, if that's what you're asking," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I got the first two pages done yesterday."

She waited with raised eyebrows, and Harry shook his head. "It was kind of gruesome, wasn't it?"

Padma gave him an actual smile for that. "It was. Wait until you get to page five. They order the infidels to the breaking wheel."

Harry made a face. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You should be." Padma shifted her bag on her shoulder. It was stuffed full of books.

"D'you... do you want me to carry that for you?" Harry asked, gesturing at her bag. Padma looked down at it, then back up at him.

"No, I've got it," she said, and she looked amused. "You're not as evil as everyone says you are, Potter."

"Er, t-thanks," he stuttered.

She watched him for a moment longer. "You're only a little bit evil, I think."

Harry had no idea what to say to that, or the smile that came with it. Fortunately, they reached the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower soon after, and she left him in the hall to go find Anthony.

Harry let out a long breath as he waited. Had that gone well? He hoped it had. What did she mean by 'only a little bit evil'? He'd have to ask someone. Pansy? Hermione? ...Anthony? He was in over his head.

* * *

"So what did you want to show me that was important enough to move my study break up to right now, Harry?"

"Quiet, Anthony, we're nearly there."

"Well, you have twelve more minutes."

Harry grabbed Anthony's wrist and picked up the pace. "We had better hurry, then, hadn't we?"

They reached the storage room in record time, and Harry managed to make the door appear with little fuss.

"Now come in here and tell me you're not impressed," Harry said, throwing the door open and standing aside so that Anthony could see.

Anthony tipped his head on one side and stepped inside, gazing around at all the junk that filled the room to the brim.

"Huh," he said, picking up a partially melted shield that looked like it belonged to one of the suits of armour. "Look what you found."

Harry grinned and followed him, pointing out a pile of broken sneakoscopes as they passed. "Isn't this brilliant?"

"Is everything broken in here, do you think?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "A lot of it just looks like it hasn't been used in a long time."

Anthony frowned over a pile of unidentifiable bits of wood. "Fascinating."

They spent much longer than twelve minutes exploring the storage room, which Harry counted as a victory. Anything he could do to usurp time better spent studying was a success, in his opinion.

Anthony was examining a piece of jewelry with more interest than Harry thought was entirely necessary from a bloke who didn't have a girlfriend when Harry encountered another cabinet, contents of which cascaded down on him with a soft thump.

"Anthony! Come here!"

Anthony took his time in detouring around a statue of an elephant with a tusk missing, and snickered when he finally saw exactly what had come exploding out of the cabinet.

"Do you need help extricating yourself from those socks, Harry?" he asked courteously. Harry kicked through the knee deep pile to open ground and rolled his eyes, pulling one off his shoulder and tossing it in the pile.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you," he said. "How did that many socks fit in such a small cupboard, d'you think?"

"Magic," Anthony suggested. "And anyway, I found something much more interesting: look."

He held up the bit of jewelry he'd been examining earlier. It was old and delicate looking, and Harry didn't see what was so interesting about it.

"Very nice, I guess?" he said, perplexed.

"It looks like..." he paused. "I'd have to do some research. Do you think I can take this?"

"Who would care?" Harry asked, shrugging. "I don't think Filch is actually aware this room exists."

Anthony nodded, head still bent over the jewelry, turning it over and over in his hands. "Good, good. I should get back to the Tower, Harry. It's been over an hour. I'm well behind schedule."

They walked out together. After he'd dropped Anthony off, Harry figured he might as well go down to the library and talk to the Gryffindors if they were there. He had nothing else to do, apart from homework. He needed a break from it for today, though.

* * *

Harry snuck up on the Gryffindors, just to see if he could. Dudley and Neville were hard at work, scribbling away at parchment and referencing from the same book occasionally. Hermione's stack of parchment was thicker, as were her books, but she was tapping her quill on the table and looked about ready to pass out.

"A nap sounds good right about now, doesn't it?"

Harry dropped into a seat right next to hers and gave her a quick grin. She blinked at him.

"Who has time for a nap these days?" Dudley grumbled. Harry lifted an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Who indeed?"

She went slightly pink and looked away.

"I have to finish this essay," she said instead, her quill making a steady tap-tap-tap noise on the desk. "And after that, the diagram for Care of Magical Creatures, and after that-"

"A nap to keep you from going insane," Harry said, plucking the quill neatly from her hands. "Or at least a break. Come on, Hermione. Even Anthony isn't as bad as all this. He took an entire hour to relax today."

"I like Harry's idea," Neville said, tossing his quill down and leaning back in his chair. "I can't read another word about Colour Changing Charms."

Dudley glanced up from his own work when Neville threw his quill, and grinned at Harry. "Hello. When did you show up?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Just now. I'm instituting a mandatory break."

"What I want to know," Hermione interjected, "Is how you'll get all your homework finished today if you're going around forcing everyone else to take breaks."

"I'm not forcing anyone," Harry said, tilting back in his chair. "Anthony has a schedule. He's very devoted to it. He certainly wouldn't let the likes of me come between them. Which reminds me." He let his chair fall forward and crossed his arms on the table. "What does it mean if a girl tells you you're 'only a little bit evil'?"

Hermione smirked at him and glanced over at Neville and Dudley, who looked intrigued.

"Explain yourself, Harry," Neville demanded. He and Dudley both leaned forward and waited with expectant expressions.

"Padma and I were talking earlier," Harry said, starting to blush as the three of them made various faces. Dudley's waggling eyebrows were what really did it. "Stop that! Like I said, we were talking, and she said I'm not as evil as everyone says I am, and then she said, 'you're only a little bit evil'."

He looked at Hermione, pointedly ignoring the suggestions from the two snickering boys on the other side of the table.

"It means she likes you," Hermione told him. "Good for you, Harry."

"I hoped so." Harry scrunched up his forehead. "But... how does that translate, again?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's flirting. I've seen you do it before, you must know how it works."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "I don't flirt. When do I flirt?"

"I've seen you flirt with Luna," Hermione's expression was far too smug. "And you've flirted with Pansy loads of times."

"Harry Potter, you're a slag!" Dudley exclaimed gleefully. Harry flushed crimson.

"Dudley! Don't just say things like that in the library!" he hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"Dudley's just feeling a bit punchy because he didn't sleep at all last night, did you Dudley?" Hermione frowned over the table at him, radiating disapproval. "Neither did Neville or Ron."

"Neither did you," Dudley accused. "You were up all night working on tomorrow's meeting."

"I slept," Hermione said primly. "Just not as much as usual. The three of you were up all night for no reason at all."

"We were working on a Divination project," Neville said. Hermione snorted, and he ignored her with dignity. "We were reading the cards and doing our dream diaries."

"You were playing Exploding Snap," Hermione pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure you have to sleep before you can have dreams for your diaries."

While Neville and Hermione bickered good naturedly, Dudley leaned across the table. "I meant to ask, Harry," he said with cheer. "Are you planning to come back home for the winter holiday?"

Harry felt his good mood drain out of him like a plug had been pulled. "Oh," he said. "Well, I was going to visit Sirius and Remus," Dudley waited, eyebrows lifted very slightly and a hopeful expression on his face. "...but I could probably come for the last week or so, if you want."

The words came out of his mouth without his permission, and Harry forced a smile when Dudley grinned at him. "Great! I'll write to mum and dad this week and let them know."

Harry left the library not long after, cursing himself up and down. He couldn't go. But he couldn't not go. What if Aunt Petunia couldn't keep up the act? What if she left again, or worse, what if she let on how she really felt? He couldn't leave Dudley to deal with the fallout on his own. He had to go.

* * *

"Our Skiving Snackboxes are nearly ready for mass consumption," Fred declared, whipping a small sheet off a row of neatly organized sweets. Harry peered down at them, curious.

"These are the ones that make you vomit or faint?"

"No, those are the Puking Pastilles," George said, pointing from one sweet to another. "Those are the Fainting Fancies."

"And those are Nosebleed Nougats and Fever Fudge," Fred said, poking his own finger at the two multicoloured candies Harry had been examining. "We've almost got all the kinks worked out of those."

"The Weasley's Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs and the Portable Swamps are finally finished, though," George said, revealing another row of products on the next desk over with a flourish.

"And our Canary Cremes and Ton Tongue Toffees have been on the market for ages, as well as the fake wands and the the Extendable Ears."

"We're already doing a reasonable amount of business by owl order," George added, handing Harry a stack of parchment filled with numbers and columns. Harry blinked and flipped through it. He didn't quite follow all the columns, but the numbers were fairly large and only one or two of them were in red, so that seemed good. "The only thing holding us back right now is product testing on the Snackboxes."

Harry frowned, leaning back against a desk. "Is it just a slow process, or...?"

The twins exchanged a dark glance. "You could say that," Fred said. "Or you could say your prefect friend is giving us a bit of difficulty."

Harry bit back a smile. "Hermione? I'm surprised I haven't heard about it already, if that's the case. She wasn't pleased when I decided to help the two of you."

"Well, that's your assignment for tonight, boss," George said, waving his hands at Harry. "You've backed our venture, now go do what you need to do to get your investment off the ground."

"She's not going to give in just because I ask her to," Harry pointed out reasonably. The twins rolled their eyes in tandem.

"Go be Slytherin at her or something," Fred said, making shooing motions. "Whatever that means. We won't ask."

Harry very carefully decided not to wonder what they might think that meant. "Look, if you want to convince Hermione to leave you alone, you want to make it seem like everything is by the book."

"We pay them," George pointed out.

"Real galleons and everything," Fred agreed. "How much more 'by the book' does it get?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "Write up some kind of paperwork for them to sign, something you can show her. She'd buy that."

"Maybe a consent form?"

The twins grinned at each other. "And it can have small print-"

"- and subsections-"

"And completely absolve us of any responsibility for any injuries or painful vomiting caused by our products!"

"Brilliant idea, boss!" Fred said with a grin. "We knew there was a reason we brought you on board."

"Aside from all the galleons I gave you?" Harry reminded them. They beamed and patted him on the shoulder, unconcerned.

"That too, of course."

* * *


	11. The Awkward

With the Christmas holiday approaching, Harry's schedule only became more hectic. There was no more time for random study breaks; between Pucey's 'keeping up with the Gryffindors' winter Quidditch practices and Snape's lessons and Umbridge's detentions, Harry hardly had time to go to classes, let alone avoid his homework.

His legilimency lessons were going well, at least. He'd managed to build the mind space Snape had suggested, and spent twenty minutes every morning maintaining the thoughts and memories that wallpapered the boundaries and floated thick in apparently vulnerable invitation. He hadn't had another nightmare since the first.

Detentions with Umbridge hadn't been nearly so much a success, in that he was avoiding them by the skin of his teeth these days. Her reasons for issuing them were becoming thinner and thinner. When Hagrid finally came back, she sat in on his class and gave Harry detention for what amounted to dropping his book. It came to the point where not one of his friends had bothered to use the phrase 'keep your head down' in a few weeks.

The brightest spot in the last few weeks of classes before break was the day Blaise showed up to the Great Hall for lunch with a girl.

Harry spotted them first, and frowned. Normally he'd lean over and ask Pansy who she was, but Blaise and this girl were walking way too close and smiling at each other way too much. Harry wasn't that tactless. He glanced around. Theo was sitting closest to him, and Harry wasn't about to have a conversation about Blaise's new girlfriend with him. Theo didn't like Harry and had never made a mystery of it. They usually just avoided each other.

"You're pathetic, Harry." Pansy dropped into the empty seat next to him and reached for the juice. "You're practically radiating 'helpless socially awkward prat' over here."

Harry glared. "What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything."

"Harry Potter, I am going to read your mind." Pansy glanced at Blaise, who was standing near the Ravenclaw table saying goodbye to his girl, then put on an insultingly high pitched voice and began: "'Oh Blaise met someone. Who is she? I don't know, for I am a socially oblivious caterpillar.' Your head turns. 'Oh no, I can't ask Pansy! Conflict and tears may follow! And I have no one else in Slytherin, for I am, as I said, an oblivious caterpillar who has only two friends. Oh, there's Theo: yuck. What do I do?'"

She waved her hands like a flightless bird through most of this narrative, which had Harry covering his mouth to try to hide his embarrassed laughter.

"I've got plenty of friends!" Harry said, his voice muffled through his hands.

"How did I do? Outstanding? Exceeds Expectations?"

"You're not even taking the Divination O.W.L."

"I'm too good for Trelawney," she declared. "And anyway, your face was an open book." She sobered as she glanced at Blaise, who was heading for their table. "You should know Blaise and I are mostly done fighting. Sorry about the past few months."

"You're okay with him going out with-?"

"Her name is Lisa Turpin," Pansy said. "And yes, it's fine. Lisa's boring. I'm definitely the better catch." She flashed a grin at Harry and lowered her voice as Blaise came closer. "And anyway, I've got Miles."

Blaise sat down across from Harry and greeted the both of them cordially. Pansy responded, and if the two of them were a little too cheerful about it all, Harry certainly wasn't going to say anything. This was more than he could have dreamed of even last week. His friends were speaking to each other again. As for Miles Bletchely, Slytherin Keeper, he tended to ignore Harry rather than glare at him, and Harry wasn't stupid enough to bring him up in front of Blaise before he knew Blaise's opinion on the whole situation.

He wasn't actually a socially oblivious anything, no matter how Pansy liked to pick on him.

* * *

As though to put his confidence in his social abilities to the test, Harry ran into Padma the day before break. All any of them had left to do at the moment were the assignments they'd been given to work on over the holidays, and Harry didn't want to see the inside of the library again until at least January. He didn't even want to look at his school books until after Christmas, though he'd probably get a scolding from Hermione if she caught wind of his plans.

As such, Harry was wandering the drafty corridors and wishing there were more fireplaces in the Slytherin common room. All the warm spots had been taken up by sixth and seventh year Slytherins who didn't like him. It was chilly in the dungeons during the winter at the best of times, and Harry felt he was better served being cold somewhere where he wouldn't also feel hated.

It was a lucky thing, too. He met Padma near the Owlery, walking down a narrow flight of stairs.

"Oh, hello," she said. "I wondered if I would get a chance to wish you a good break."

Harry managed to respond without too much trouble. "I hope you have a good break, too," he said. "Are you going home?"

"We are," she said, and glanced behind her. "Are you headed anywhere in particular?"

"Oh, er, not really," Harry turned faintly red and stepped out of her way. "I was just walking."

"Good, then you can walk with me," she said, and continued down the steps toward him with a small smile. Harry tried his best not to turn bright red and nodded.

"Where are you going?" he asked as they fell into step next to each other, Harry concentrating predominantly on not tripping over his own feet and not staring at her too much.

"I'm just walking, like you," she said with a shrug. "Where will you be staying for your holiday?"

"I'm going to visit my godfather, and then I'll be staying with family," Harry said, resigned.

Padma raised her eyebrows. "You don't sound particularly excited, if you don't mind my saying."

"I'm not really looking forward to the last bit," Harry admitted. "It's not a big deal, though. What will you be doing?"

"Parvati and I are going to our parent's house," Padma said, guiding them onto a staircase as it passed. "We usually visit our aunt and uncle in Birmingham at some point, as well."

"Do you like Birmingham?" Harry asked. She looked amused.

"I do," she said. "Are you going to visit any of your friends at all?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't have any plans to. Pansy and Blaise have only just stopped fighting, and Anthony or Hermione would make me study with them."

"Blaise Zabini?" she asked, pushing her hair back. "I think he and Lisa are dating, aren't they?"

Harry nodded. "That's what he told me."

Padma nodded back, blinking at him. "Lisa says he's very charming."

"I guess, sure," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's a good guy."

"We should all do something together in January, when we get back," she continued, still watching him. "If you want to, I mean."

Harry's mind went blank for a full second. He opened his mouth and words fell out. "I, er, I mean, yeah. We should, definitely." He cleared his throat. "In January."

"Great!" She smiled at the hallway in front of them and adjusted the bag she was carrying. "We'll do that, then."

* * *

When Harry returned to his dormitory later that afternoon, he was in such high spirits that even Draco's appearance in the doorway didn't phase him.

Neither of them said anything to the other at first. Harry was sifting through his things, deciding what to bring with him for the holiday and occasionally smiling at his socks or his robes. Draco stopped in front of Blaise's four poster and frowned at it. After a long minute, he huffed out a sigh and spoke without looking at Harry.

"Do you know which hex Blaise has on his nightstand? I can't remember if he's up to  _barricus_ or  _obruo_."

Harry blinked and glanced up from his sorting, but Draco apparently had no intention of turning around. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Blaise was fairly predictable in his choice of hexes to ward his things. He liked to spell out foul words with the first letter of each new spell, and it was easy to guess which he would use next if you paid attention.

"I'm pretty sure it's  _lingaugeo_ now," Harry said. "Theo tripped it on Thursday, and got hit in the head with... everything."

Draco shook his head. "I rather thought he'd go with  _lapidosus._ "

"No, he and Pansy are talking again as of last week," Harry reported, and felt even more cheerful at the very thought. "He's in a much better mood lately, haven't you noticed?"

"Oh." Draco paused. "Thank bloody Merlin for that. Now I can start using the common room again."

The conversation ended with Draco apparently throwing caution to the wind now that he knew he wasn't likely to be stoned, and spelling open the top drawer of Blaise's nightstand. Harry turned back to his packing and listened to Draco trying to pronounce the counterspell with a tongue three times its usual size. It was the friendliest conversation they'd had in over a year, and he felt a vivid, hollow ache in his chest at the thought.

* * *

Harry was greeted at the train station by Remus and a large black dog, who leapt up and woofed in Harry's face.

Harry laughed and leaned away from the dog breath and drool. "Is there any reason you decided to come as a dog?" he asked as Sirius dropped back down to all fours and barked again.

"Not that I'm aware of," Remus interjected, a small, restrained smile playing about his mouth. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a leash. "I think he just likes wearing this."

All the fur on Sirius' back stood up when he saw the leash, and he growled at Remus before racing off into the crowd. Harry stared after him, but Remus chose instead to shrug innocently and sling Harry's bag over his shoulder. When they reached the apparition point, Sirius was holding a place in line on two human feet, though he still looked like he might want to growl.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded when Remus moved into earshot. "I thought I burned all your damn leashes."

Remus grinned and stuffed the leash back in his pocket. "I have my ways."

Sirius gave him a gimlet eye and then turned very deliberately to Harry. "Hey, kid, how have you been?"

"Alright," Harry said as Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders in preparation for their departure. "You?"

"I was doing great a minute ago," Sirius said, and cast another dark glare at Remus' pockets. After the three of them disapparated, Sirius turned on Remus and said, "You can't have gotten it from Diagon Alley. I bribed Gladys at the Menagerie."

"You didn't say a word to Duncan Eeylops."

Harry looked around and realised they were at Sirius and Remus's house. Or, to be more accurate, they were standing in front of the sapling that served as an entrance. It was getting taller. Harry wrapped his hand around the trunk and waited.

"He sells owls! As far as I'm aware, you don't put a leash on an owl!"

"Well, no," Remus allowed. "But he used to own a crup."

Sirius wrapped his own hand around the sapling as though he'd much rather be wrapping it around Remus's neck. "I'll get you," he promised. "Harry and I will get you back while he's here, won't we, Harry?"

Remus took hold of one of the smaller branches and spoke the password. As the house grew around them, he shook his head at Harry. "There's no need to take sides," he said. "And anyway, I sent you those lesson plans back in October, didn't I, Harry? What has Sirius done for you lately?"

"Oh right," Sirius said, and he and Remus both gave Harry their full attention. "How did your defense group turn out? You never said."

Harry frowned. "I expect they're doing well. I wouldn't know."

"What happened?"

Sirius and Remus's house surrounded them, tall and transparent. The snow reflected sunshine off the glass, and inside it looked warm and comfortable. Thick floor to ceiling curtains had been added to several of the rooms since Harry's last visit, though they were all currently pulled back to let the light in.

They left the courtyard by way of the kitchen as Harry explained his falling out with Hermione's group. Remus put the kettle on.

"You're still letting them use the lesson plans?" Sirius said with outrage when Harry finished.

"I'm letting Hermione use them," Harry said. He was weary of this conversation already. He'd had it a thousand times with Blaise and Pansy. "She's the one who would spend all her time coming up with new ones if I hadn't. None of them would suffer for it."

Fortunately, Remus and Sirius were Gryffindors and also didn't know how Hermione had framed the first meeting to all the potential members. Otherwise, the argument really would have become the same exact one he had with Blaise and Pansy. Their next line was usually 'Let her suffer, she's a bint!' Never mind that Harry had forgiven her already.

Instead, Remus handed him a mug of hot chocolate and said, "That's very mature of you, Harry."

Harry looked down at his chocolate. "Thank you."

Sirius grimaced, but changed the subject anyway. "What else have you been up to?"

Harry wracked his brain for something pleasant to talk about. There wasn't much. He wilted somewhat as he realised what a truly awful term he'd just experienced.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not failing any classes," he said. Remus's eyebrows shot up, and Harry hurried to continue before he could ask which were uncertain. "And I met a girl."

Sirius leaned forward with interest. "A girl? Out with it, Harry! Who is she?"

Harry flushed at the scrutiny, but explained about Padma and how she had said they should do something after break.

"You've come to the right place for advice," Sirius said. Remus snorted.

"Sirius never had a single relationship last longer than three days when we were in school," Remus told Harry. "Don't trust him any further than you can throw him."

"I'll have you know I was considered quite the catch," said Sirius, ignoring Remus, who had snorted again. "Unlike Remus, who dated books in school."

"I had two relationships at Hogwarts," Remus corrected him.

"Hairy Snout, Human Heart, and Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts," Sirius agreed. "I know. You brought them home to meet your parents and everything."

* * *

Christmas with Sirius and Remus turned out to be an enormous event, as Sirius loved the holidays.

"He's always been like this," Remus told Harry a couple days before Christmas while they were finishing up the decorating. Sirius was storming around the house, flinging tinsel into the air and belting out Christmas songs at the top of his lungs.

"...seven snidgets soaring, six pixies pranking,  _five elder wands_!"

"How many Christmas songs does he know?" Harry asked as he continued hanging garland and helping Remus introduce the fairies to their posts. Sirius had already been through a rendition of 'God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs' and 'Jingle Bells', and it was only noon.

"All of them," Remus said. "Count yourself lucky. He's been like this for three weeks already."

"If he's been looking forward to the holidays so much, why are we only decorating now?" Harry asked. Sirius heard the question and appeared at the top of the staircase, holding up a mug of eggnog like a toast.

"We were waiting for you, of course," he said. "Christmas colours are red and green. We had the red, you had the green."

Harry blinked. "That is the single sappiest thing I have ever heard you say," he said. Remus snickered.

"Both of you can bugger right off," Sirius declared cheerfully, sailing past them and tossing a handful of silvery tinsel to float in the air above their heads in a messy clump as he went. Remus sighed.

"Our next project, you realise, is finding all the places he's done things like that and fixing them," Remus told Harry, using his wand to give the tinsel some semblance of order. "It may actually take us until Christmas."

* * *

On Christmas morning, Harry was woken early by the sound of his door creaking open. Something about the noise sounded stealthy, which was what had woken him. Stealthy movement in the Slytherin dormitories never boded well for the unconscious. He'd woken up missing a foot before, and had to hop around the dorm for half an hour before he found Theo using it to practice his transfiguration.

Stealthy movement at Sirius and Remus's house could sometimes be worse than all that, even. And last night, he and Sirius might have used a time-delayed spell to transfigure Remus's bed into a cleverly disguised pool. So Remus might be a little irritated with them.

Harry gripped his wand under his pillow and waited with slitted eyes for the attack, which came in the form of a bucket of water falling on his head.

"Wake up, Harry!"

Harry sat up, spluttering and blinking water out of his eyes. He glared at Sirius and Remus, who were standing in his doorway beaming.

"Remus, you don't play pranks on Christmas!" Sirius called from halfway down the hall. It turned out he wasn't standing in Harry's doorway so much as passing by, and had paused to watch Remus's prank. "That's not in the proper spirit of the holiday!"

Remus produced a towel from behind his back and tossed it at Harry as he watched Sirius walk away. "If I recall, that swimming pool you turned my bed into happened after midnight last night," he called. "You're a hypocrite, Sirius."

"It was planned and executed yesterday," Harry disagreed, having decided to play Sirius's Advocate since Sirius had wandered off. "We didn't spend Christmas morning scheming. We spent it thinking about the True Meaning of the Season. Or at least Sirius did. Now, because of you, I'm thinking about the true meaning of revenge."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Very clever, Harry," he said, and produced a tray piled with hot tea and biscuits. "Now have some tea and get out of bed, it's time to open your gifts."

The tray was obviously a pre-planned conciliatory gesture, though with an actual Christmas morning waiting, it was entirely unnecessary. Harry took a cup and some biscuits anyway, and dried his clothing as he followed Remus downstairs.

Sirius made them all sit between the hearth fire and the Christmas tree in one of the more obnoxiously red rooms and drink eggnog while they opened presents. Harry got gifts from Anthony, Hermione, Blaise, Pansy and Neville. Fred and George sent him a box full of what Harry assumed were pranks, which he decided to open later so as to maintain the element of surprise when he used them on Sirius and Remus. Remus gave him several books and a holster for his wand, and Sirius gave him a set of mirrors.

"That one's mine, actually," Sirius said after Harry opened it. He reached forward and snatched one of them out of Harry's hands.

Harry looked down at his mirror and frowned at his own confused expression. "What do they do?"

"Harry Potter," Sirius commanded, and Harry glanced up at him, startled. Sirius was looking at the mirror in his hands, so Harry looked back down at his own and blinked at the unexpected grey eyes smiling out of it.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius said. His face in the mirror echoed the greeting half a second later, and Harry smiled back, impressed.

"This is brilliant," he said, listening to the echo of his own voice from the other side of the mountain of wrapping paper in between him and his godfather. "Cheers, Sirius."

"It would have been a lot easier to talk during last term if I had remembered to give these to you before you went back to Hogwarts," he said, making a face at Harry through the mirror. "I wanted to give them to you in person, though. Family heirloom."

"Now you don't have to send me all those coded gardening stories," Harry told Remus, who was leaning against Sirius's shoulder, the easier to peer down at Harry's face in the glass. "You can just borrow Sirius's mirror."

Remus gave the real Harry a half-smile. "You don't like my gardening stories? I'm hurt, Harry."

"Don't worry," Sirius said when Harry blinked uncertainly instead of answering. "He makes those up anyway. We've never had a gnome infestation here. They like it better at the Weasley's."

* * *

Sirius and Harry used the mirrors frequently after that.

"Sirius, have you seen my broom?"

"I think you left it in the parlor."

"Thanks!"

* * *

"Harry, Remus says to tell you dinner is ready."

"Sirius, I'm in the next room."

"Oh.  _Harry! Dinner is ready!_ "

" _I know!_ "

" _Then come eat!_ "

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry rolled over and pulled his comforter over his head to block the light and tinny, strident Sirius-shouting.

"Harry, wake up. It's half ten! He's a lazy sod, Remus. I blame rock 'n roll."

"Sirius, what?"

"Well, that's what James's parents always blamed when we did something they didn't like. Those damn Weird Sisters have been corrupting our youth for generations."

Harry stuck a hand out from under his blankets and groped around for the mirror on his bedside table as Remus responded.

He brought it back under the covers with him and squinted at it. "Sirius, shut up," he muttered. "You're worse than an alarm clock."

"Harry! Glad to have you join the conversation! Remus was just telling me-"

"Yes, I heard him," Harry said, although he hadn't really. "Is there a way to turn this thing off?"

"Not to your knowledge!" Sirius chirped. "Come downstairs: we've made breakfast, I'm reading the paper, it's all very dignified. You should put on some trousers first, to be in the proper spirit of the thing."

Harry groaned and tossed the mirror face down on the rug next to his bed.

"Harry, I will send Remus up there to get you!"

"Get him yourself."

"This is easier, though. Here, look, if Harry won't come to us, I'll just read him the paper until he comes down."

"I hate you so much," Harry muttered. Sirius didn't appear to hear him at all, else he ignored Harry in favour of rustling the newspaper and clearing his throat loudly.

"The Cannons have lost to the Tornados again, three hundred and twenty points to fifty. No surprise there. Hmm. There's a new apothecary opening in Diagon Alley in a few months..."

Harry sighed and pushed his covers back. Sirius was clearly committed to waking him up, and when Sirius decided to do something, he dedicated himself to the cause one hundred percent. Harry wasn't going back to sleep.

"...the investigation into the death of Stan Shunpike has been halted..."

Harry padded around his room, donning his glasses and the recommended trousers as Sirius droned on in the background.

"...fatal accident, my foot. The bloke was clearly murdered, Remus."

"They've been investigating for months now," Remus agreed. "Strange that they'd take so long to decide on an accident."

Harry stooped and picked up the mirror. "I'm coming downstairs now," he said, and stuck it in his pocket, muffling Sirius's exclamation of triumph.

* * *

"How is Privet Drive?"

"I haven't even gone inside yet," Harry said. He was standing in the garden shed, having been apparated there by Remus, who had only just said goodbye and disapparated.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, then," Sirius said. "Tell your horrid aunt I say hello."

"I probably won't." Harry said. He stuck the mirror in his pocket and hoisted his rucksack on his back. The shed door took some shoving to get open, but Harry managed to push through all the snow up to the back door, where Dudley was waiting in the kitchen.

"Harry!" Dudley stood up from the table and gave him a hug. "Happy Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas, Dudley." Harry took off his boots and jacket and followed Dudley into the front room, where Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were sitting, having what looked like a heated conversation.

"Dad, mum, Harry's here!" Dudley announced, waving an arm at Harry. Harry's aunt and uncle stopped mid-argument and looked up. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips when she saw them, and Uncle Vernon sat back in his chair and smoothed down his tie, still red faced.

Harry reached into his pocket and wrapped a hand around the mirror, already wishing his visit was over.


	12. The Rift

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat again and looked at Harry. "Happy Christmas, boy. Welcome back."

"Thanks, uncle Vernon," Harry replied, shifting and hitching his bag up on his shoulder. "Happy Christmas. I'll just, er, get out of your way."

Aunt Petunia didn't say anything as Harry crossed through the room and out into the hallway, but Harry hadn't really expected her to. Dudley overtook him and darted up the stairs before Harry could hang up his coat in the hallway.

"Hurry up, Harry, your present is in my room!"

"I'm coming, just give me a second," Harry said, grinning a bit. Behind the door he'd just come through, uncle Vernon's deep voice grumbled something, which incited an outpouring from aunt Petunia.

Without his ear pressed up against the door, the words were muffled and indistinct, but Harry'd spent eleven years classifying and reacting to his relatives' various negative intonations, and he could define these easily. Uncle Vernon was using his 'I'm trying terribly hard to be patient, but one wrong word out of you, boy, and it'll be the cupboard for you for a week!' voice, whereas Aunt Petunia was using her 'even though I have no proof that you broke my favourite picture frame, and in fact, it's almost certainly Dudley's fault, I still cannot believe that you thought you could get away with it, you're such a horrid child!' voice.

It was weird, listening to them use those voices on someone else. Especially each other. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were arguing about, either. The way they'd both looked at Dudley when he dragged Harry into the room was explanation enough.

Harry hung up his coat, dropped his boots, and hurried up the stairs after Dudley. The next six days couldn't pass quickly enough.

* * *

"Is it still too soon to ask how you're enjoying Privet Drive?"

Harry set his quill down, rubbed his eyes, and picked up the mirror. It was mid-afternoon on his third day at the Dursleys, and he was working on his Charms essay in his bedroom. He'd found that the tension between aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon really only tended to saturate the downstairs. If he stayed in his room during the day, above the flood level, it was almost like any other holiday at the Dursleys. Awkward and uncomfortable, but he didn't actually want to pack his things and flee in the night.

"Enjoying isn't even in the same country as the word I'd use," Harry said, propping his chin up on his palm and staring down at Sirius's face. "My essays will be detailed, though."

Sirius laughed, which Harry thought was somewhat cruel.

"Petunia was always a delight to be around when we were younger," he said, leaning closer to the mirror. "Don't tell Remus, and James would have killed me if he'd known, but when I first met her, I smuggled a few pranks along. Replaced her hand soap with frog spawn, added a few nose biting teacups to her china set, that sort of thing."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Sirius!"

"I'd heard stories about her," Sirius said in his own defense. "She was awful to Lily about magic. She deserved it, if you ask me."

Harry shook his head. "I can't believe you."

From downstairs, Harry heard what sounded like a cupboard banging, followed by a low shout.

"-you can't POSSIBLY think I'd-"

"-don't understand your selfishness!"

Closer to hand, Harry heard a door open and shut. He sighed.

"Sirius, I have to go."

Sirius, who couldn't have heard the background sounds Harry was attuned to, took one look at his face and nodded, his face creased with sympathy.

"You don't have to stay there for the rest of the holiday," he reminded Harry. "You can come back whenever you want, just say the word. Bring Dudley."

As if on cue, there was a knock at Harry's door. He shook his head. "You know my uncle wouldn't let him come. You're that convict on the telly. I'll talk to you later."

Dudley's voice filtered in through the door. "Harry?"

"The offer's always open, either way. Talk to you soon, Harry."

Harry propped the empty mirror up against his inkwell. "Come in, Dudley,"

Dudley came in and shut the door behind him. "I'm having trouble with my essay," he said, showing Harry the parchments he'd brought with him.

"Which class?"

"Er," Dudley glanced down at the parchment. "Astronomy."

"Oh, you only need ten inches and a diagram of four of the constellations," Harry said, playing along. "You can copy mine if you want."

Dudley shoved Harry's blankets out of the way and sat down cross legged at the foot of Harry's bed. "Thanks."

They worked in silence for a while. Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon fought respectably. Usually, you didn't even know they were having an argument until one of them raised their voice just a little bit too much. Harry hated it. It made it difficult to predict the beginning or end of an argument, since Harry and Dudley usually only heard snatches.

It was a gamble whenever Harry ventured downstairs for food. He might make it to the kitchen and make sandwiches, only to come back out into the hallway and find that they were arguing in the front room and had left the doors open. He hated being near them when they fought. His heart beat a little faster and his movements became clumsier; it felt as though the two of them might spot him and suddenly decide he was a better outlet for their anger.

Dudley made everything much worse. He completely refused to acknowledge his parents' fighting out loud, which made the only potential ally Harry might have in the house null. On the other hand, whenever they started up again, he found Harry and came up with some inevitably uncomfortable topic that had absolutely nothing to do with his parents or the muggle world, and pushed it.

"I found another one of those letters Draco kept sending you over the summer," Dudley said, which was just the sort of thing Harry meant.

Harry nodded and scratched another sentence into his essay.

"You should read this one, it's a good one," Dudley continued. Harry dropped his quill and turned around in his seat.

"You read one of my letters?" he asked, irritated. Dudley let a sly grin spread across his face.

"No, but it got your attention." He pulled a scroll out from under his Astronomy diagrams and showed it to Harry. Sure enough, it was written on the same rich parchment as all of Draco's other letters. Dudley leaned back against the wall and looked down at the scroll. "Although, maybe I should read it, if you won't."

Harry stood up and snatched the parchment out of Dudley's loose grip. He glared as he returned to his seat, ripping open the letter just to get Dudley to shut up.

"I've already read most of Draco's letters," he grumbled. "Why do you care so much if I read them, anyway?"

Dudley shrugged. "Because he's your best friend, and friends read each other's letters."

Harry stopped halfway through unrolling the scroll and stared at Dudley. "Have you just forgotten last year?" he asked incredulously. "How he acted? And what his father did?"

Dudley shifted on the bed and pushed his parchments into a neater pile. "Well, yeah," he said, slowly, looking down at his hands. "But, sometimes... people make big terrible awful mistakes, and they make you miserable for a long time, but... but you forgive them anyway because you want them in your life and they're sorry."

He paused and darted a quick glance up at Harry's face. "I mean, right? That's what you do."

No ready response came to mind, so Harry sat in dumb silence in the face of this outpouring. He looked back down at the scroll he'd been unrolling and willed himself to say something.

Dudley's real meaning was obvious, but aunt Petunia didn't act like she was sorry. A part of Harry thought Dudley would be better off not forgiving her at all, but he couldn't just tell Dudley to reject his mother.

Instead, he stared down at Draco's letter without reading it, until the moment was broken by another bout of raised voices from downstairs.

* * *

"Boys! Wash up, dinner in ten!"

Harry groaned into his History of Magic textbook. He'd been using it as a pillow after skimming through a particularly boring section on some great bloodletting in the fourth century and giving up. He unstuck his face from a portrait of Sidra the Severe and rubbed his eyes.

Aunt Petunia's call had sounded cheerful, which Harry found more annoying than anything else. Experience of the past week told Harry that the more cheerful she sounded, the more time he'd spend that night gritting his teeth as she tried to pretend she had a perfect family and Dudley played along.

Before Harry could pull himself out of his seat, there was a knock on his door and Dudley poked his head in.

"Hey Harry, quickly before dinner, can you help me with this?"

At Harry's nod, Dudley stepped fully into the room and pushed the door closed behind him. "It's for that colour changing spell. I can't tell if I'm doing the wand movement right."

Harry nodded and gestured to Dudley's wand. "Let's see, then."

Dudley took a deep breath and waved his wand in a half arc and a flick over his essay, which they needed to be able to change to their house colours in front of Flitwick when they turned them in after break.

"No, you've got the flick wrong," Harry said, picking up his own wand. "It's an upward flick at the end of the first syllable, and you're doing a weird kind of swooping flick. Remus showed me before I left Devon, watch."

Harry demonstrated the wand movement Remus had taught him a week ago, and Dudley watched with his eyebrows pulled together.

"Try it," Harry said, and watched as Dudley did the flick backward. "No, don't move your hand to your left, it's my left. Your right."

He stood up and turned away from Dudley, which meant that when aunt Petunia knocked on the slightly ajar door, it fell open to show Harry waving his wand while Dudley stood behind it, watching.

"Put that horrible stick away and come down to dinner," aunt Petunia said from the hallway, with a bite in her voice that Harry hadn't heard since last holiday. "Have you seen Dudley?"

Harry lowered his wand and stared at her, unable to stop himself from sneering a bit as he pulled the door all the way open to reveal Dudley on the other side.

He dropped the look the second he saw Dudley's face, which had fallen into something lower than the cheerful denial he'd been sporting all week.

"Dudley," he said, but Dudley wasn't looking at him.

"Horrible stick, mum?" he asked, pressing his mouth into a shaky line. "I thought you said it was all fine."

"Oh honey, I didn't mean it like  _that_ ," she said, putting a hand to her throat and trying to laugh it off. "Of course it's fine, Diddydums. Now come downstairs, dinner is ready."

Dudley didn't move. "How did you mean it, then?"

Harry took a slow, smooth step backward, pressing himself against the wall as he watched Petunia's smile falter.

"Mum, if you think magic is horrible, why did you come back? If you think-" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. "If you think I'm horrible-"

"Dudley!" Petunia shook her head and looked hurt. Harry couldn't tell for sure, but he thought it was genuine. "I would never say such a thing! Don't ever say things like that about your mother. Of course I don't think you're horrible, sweetie-"

"If you think magic is horrible, then you think I'm horrible, because I'm magic," Dudley pointed out, his voice getting louder as he went. He showed her the wand in his hand as he spoke. "I have a horrible stick, too."

Shaking her head, Petunia stepped closer to Dudley and smoothed her hand across his hair. "No, that's not true, honey. I still love you."

Dudley leaned away from her hand. "Even though you hate my magic?"

Petunia shook her head and reached out again. "No, darling! I was going to say, even if I -" Her mouth twisted in the pause. "-don't exactly love what you do."

Dudley's face crumpled, and to Harry's surprise, tears started to leak out of the corners of his eyes. These weren't the alligator tears of their childhood. These were genuine distress, and as Dudley stepped back out of his mother's grasp, Harry stepped forward.

"That's not how it works," Harry said in Dudley's place. Petunia looked around, as though for the source of an irritating buzzing. She frowned when she spotted him near the wall.

"You were not invited to this conversation," she snapped, putting her hands on her hips like she was getting ready to shout at him. Harry took a deep breath and talked over her.

"Dudley is magic," he said loudly, angrily. "It's not just a hobby he has on the weekend that you can disapprove of and ignore. He's going to have girlfriends who are witches. He's going to get a job in the wizarding world when we graduate from our  _magic school._ "

"He doesn't have to if he doesn't want to," she said, her attention totally on Harry now.

"You mean he doesn't have to if  _you_  don't want him to," Harry retorted. "Dudley likes being a wizard. He's good at it. He's happy at Hogwarts."

Petunia glared. "Dudley can speak for himself." She turned to look at Dudley, who had gotten his emotions under control and shook his head at her.

"Harry's right," he said. "I'm happy being magic. It's who I am, mum."

"It's only a small part, though," Petunia said, nodding at Dudley with her eyes wide. "Right, sweetie? It's not all you are."

Dudley's forehead creased, and he looked around at Harry for help.

"It's big enough to  _matter_!" Harry exclaimed. He wished he could grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. The look on Dudley's face should have been enough to tell her that everything she was saying was as wrong as it was possible to be.

Petunia rounded on him. "This is a private conversation between me and my son," she began in a frosty tone.

"That you're having in my room!" Harry pointed out, gesturing around at his desk and wardrobe.

"The room that you live in in  _my house_ , under  _my family's_  discretion," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "You would do well to remember your  _place_ and show some  _respect._ "

"Show respect for  _what_?" Harry shouted, moving to stand between Petunia and Dudley. This conversation was a long time in coming, and it was almost a relief to get it all out. "You only live here because Uncle Vernon lets you! You have no right to come in here and start harassing Dudley! You should never have come back, why don't you just lea-"

Harry felt the sharp pain on his cheek before he realised she'd slapped him. He fell back a step and pressed his own palm to the spot, staring at her with incredulity.

"Dudley is my son and I will raise him as I see fit," Petunia said. "You, on the other hand, are not my son, and therefore you have no say in the choices this family makes. You-"

The rumble of a throat clearing had all three of them looking around at the doorway. All the shouting must have roused Uncle Vernon from wherever he'd been in the house, and now he stood staring at aunt Petunia, his face rapidly turning bright red with anger.

"Petunia, you promised," he said in one of his angriest voices. Harry took another unconscious step back and bumped shoulders with Dudley.

"No, you don't understand, Vernon-" Petunia began, but an angry uncle Vernon wasn't someone to be placated.

"I asked you not to talk to the boys about their magic," he said sharply. "If we agreed on nothing else, Petunia, we agreed on that!"

Petunia shook her head. "Dudley wasn't-"

"I won't have you filling Dudders's head with your nonsense, Pet!" Vernon gripped the doorknob in one of his big, purple hands, and glared at her. "He's a fine son, and he's our son. He's going to grow up and be a fine man, and you're going to  _let him_ , magic or no."

This was clearly an argument they'd had before, because Petunia threw up her hands and exclaimed, "He could just not-"

"I'm paying for him to go to the best school of magic in the country!" Vernon shouted, his face purpling. "He's not going to waste my money by growing up to become an accountant because you can't-"

"Vernon, I've told you, I don't-"

"You're not going to treat him like we trea-"

" _Let me finish a sentence, Vernon Dursley!_ " Petunia shrieked, crimson cheeked and balling her hands up into fists.

"I won't!" Vernon bellowed right back. "Your opinions have no place in this house! In front of my son!"

Petunia breathed in deeply through her nose, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick with anger and tears. "Would you prefer that I had stayed gone, Vernon? Would you prefer it if I stayed away from  _your_  son?"

"I-"

"Maybe..." It was Dudley. Harry could feel his shoulder shaking as he stood next to him. Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon seemed surprised that he was even there, let alone interrupting. "We're glad you came back, but maybe you should go. Again."

The only sound in the room was the ever present background buzzing of muggle appliances. Petunia's face was white and fixed.

"We can... we can write. But you don't want to be here, mum." Dudley sniffed and shook his head. "You're miserable. I thought- but, well, you are. Harry's right, you should just leave."

Harry blinked. He thought he was the only one of the two of them that had noticed how aunt Petunia really felt. He shifted uncomfortably at being brought into the conversation, but Dudley's shoulder followed as he moved. Harry got the hint. He stayed where he was.

"Dudders, sweetie." Petunia swallowed. "You don't mean that. You don't really think that."

Dudley shook his head, angrily swiping tears off his cheeks. "I do, though. I'm going to get a wizard's job and marry a witch and I want you to be okay with that and if you're not, I want you to be someday, and we're going to hate each other if you stay."

Petunia shook her head. Her face had taken on a pinched quality, and she clutched at her upper arms, wrapped across her torso. "I could never hate you, Dudley, don't ever say that."

Harry could hear Dudley take a harsh breath. "I don't want to hate you, mum. And I don't want you and dad to hate each other, either."

The tears that had been pooling in aunt Petunia's eyes finally fell, and she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheekbones carefully.

"Well." She swallowed and pressed the handkerchief to her mouth for a long, silent moment. "That seems to be all there is to say. Dinner is on the table. I'll get my things."

She left the room, and Harry and Uncle Vernon stared at each other, for a lack of anywhere else to look. Vernon cleared his throat and looked away first.

"Harry," he said, and cleared his throat again. "Could you send a.. an owl, contact that man who came last summer. He mentioned safe houses. With the war..."

Harry chewed on the inside of his lip and nodded. He knew that Sirius was in contact with Kingsley through the Order. He picked up his mirror from the desk and looked at uncle Vernon out of the corner of his eye before calling Sirius's name.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Sirius grinned up out of the mirror. "Nymphadora is visiting our humble home! She says wotcher too."

Harry could hear another person muttering faintly in the background, but it was at that moment that Sirius caught sight of Harry's face and dropped the joviality.

"What's wrong? Do you need something?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing up at uncle Vernon again. He seemed curious about the mirror and Harry's conversation. Dudley, who had already seen the mirror, was still standing next to Harry and shaking. Harry pressed their shoulders together bracingly.

"Aunt Petunia isn't going to be staying here anymore," he said. He would have softened his words for Dudley's sake if he'd known how. "Uncle Vernon wants her in a safe house. It should probably be as muggle as possible."

Sirius frowned. "Hang on." The image in the mirror blurred as it was passed, and soon Tonks's unusually serious face filled the frame.

"Did I hear you need a safe house for a muggle?"

"Yeah, as soon as possible," he said. "She's packing now."

"I'm on it," she said. "We'll have someone over there within the hour, Harry."

Harry gave her a brief, relieved smile. "Thanks, Tonks."

The mirror went blank and he set it down on the desk.

With that conversation ended, the three of them fell silent again, unsure of what to say as aunt Petunia packed in the room across the hall.

* * *

Sure enough, it was only another half an hour before the doorbell rang. Harry pulled the door open to Kingsley and Tonks, and stepped aside to allow them to enter.

"I think she's still in her room," he said, gesturing up the staircase. The two Aurors shared a glance which ended with a nod from Tonks.

"I'll go get her," she said. Her hair was a sober dirty blonde, and she gave Harry a reassuring smile as she passed on her way to the first floor.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon had relocated from Harry's tiny, crowded bedroom into the kitchen. Kingsley followed Harry through and refused a seat with a shake of his head. Uncle Vernon stood up on their entrance, and stayed standing as well. The tension thickened, and to avoid it, Harry dropped into the chair next to Dudley's and slumped in his seat.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. "This safe house. I assume she'll be comfortable?"

Kingsley linked his hands behind his back and nodded. "She'll be staying in a well protected home with a small group of similar individuals.

"I see," Uncle Vernon said, squinting. "Individuals who-"

"-are non-magical, but are aware of our world and require protection."

The incredibly formal tone Kingsley was using made the wait all the more awkward, so it was something of a relief when Tonks appeared in the doorway.

"There isn't another floor, is there?" she asked, looking concerned. "She's not up there."

Kingsley straightened his posture and pulled out his wand, looking concerned despite himself. Tonks joined him, and together they cast nonverbally. Shaking his head, Kingsley moved toward the door while tucking his wand away in his sleeve. "She's not in the house. Either she'll have hired a cab, or..."

"I'll alert the guard," Tonks said. She passed Harry and Dudley on her way to the back door, and paused. "Kingsley's probably right, but stay indoors until we give the all clear."

Harry nodded, and the Aurors disappeared. Dudley hovered near the kitchen window, but when uncle Vernon heaved a sigh and sat down, he pressed his mouth into a line and disappeared out into the hallway. Harry took one look at uncle Vernon and followed.

It turned out Dudley had gone back upstairs to Harry's room, which only made sense when Harry remembered that his window looked out onto the street and Dudley's didn't. Dudley sat at Harry's desk, leaving the bed for Harry, and they waited.

Sure enough, after about ten minutes, Tonks appeared near Number Seven, walking toward the Dursley residence. By the time she reached the front step, Dudley and Harry were waiting for her in the front hall.

"She's fine," Tonks reported, giving them a mildly relieved grin. "Kingsley was right, she was in a taxi."

"Are you bringing her back?" Dudley asked. It was the first thing he'd said since Harry called Sirius. "We didn't say goodbye."

Tonks blinked, and the grin slid off her face. "Oh." She looked back and forth between Harry and Dudley. "Er, I don't think we can. The, ah, magic on the, the safe house can only be disrupted for so long... It's just safer if we move quickly, yeah? Erm, I'm really, really sorry."

She looked really, really sorry. Harry glanced at Dudley, who swallowed and nodded. "Tell her I'll write to her," he instructed, and Tonks agreed.

Once the door was closed and the house was quiet again, Dudley went back up to Harry's room, apparently to check the street outside one more time.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted. The silence had been killing him. Dudley frowned, confused.

"For what?"

"For- I made the whole thing worse," Harry explained, dropping into his desk chair. Dudley stood back from the window and looked at him like he was stupid. "I shouldn't have yelled so much."

"You were right, though."

Harry blinked at the carpet, which seemed to upset Dudley even more. He dropped down onto Harry's bed and continued.

"No, Harry, you were right. She was wrong." His face crumpled again, but he continued. "I agreed with everything you said."

Despite Dudley's insistence, Harry still felt guilty. As a result, when it seemed like Dudley just wanted to sit and not say anything for a while, Harry let him. And when Dudley ended up falling asleep on Harry's bed, Harry propped his feet up on the nightstand, slumped down in his chair, and shut his eyes.


	13. The Listening

Remus and Tonks showed up at Privet Drive on the day they were to return to Hogwarts.

"You're welcome to come along," Tonks said to Harry's uncle. Her hair was auburn today, and Harry could see Uncle Vernon trying to place where he'd met her before.

Uncle Vernon refused, obviously having noticed their lack of vehicle. He said his goodbyes to Dudley, and clapped Harry on the shoulder as they went out the door.

Harry nodded a goodbye, completely distracted by the letter burning a hole in his trouser pocket. It had arrived only yesterday, and already the seal had fallen off and the fine parchment was wrinkled from how many times Harry had anxiously consulted it.

It was from Draco, and it said things like 'I've made sure he understands this time,' and 'Mother isn't pleased at all'. Worst of all was the phrase: 'Father is talking about Durmstrang again.'

Draco's penmanship was unusually hurried; in fact, everything about the letter screamed tension.

Harry followed Dudley, Remus and Tonks through the park, fidgeting and thinking that it was taking far too long to get to Platform 9 3/4. He wondered why they couldn't just apparate from Privet Drive, and asked.

"When we updated the protections on Number Four, we added Anti-Apparition wards," Tonks explained, leading them into a quiet corner of the park, where they'd be surrounded by trees and shrubs. "So we have to go to the nearest quiet spot. We usually arrive by Arabella's house, but this park is the closest and most convenient place to apparate from when we're in a hurry."

"We'd prefer to have the two of you outside the wards for as short a time as possible," Remus agreed. "Having said that, take my arm, Harry. Dudley, you're with Tonks."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He took Remus's arm, and soon they were standing on Platform 9 3/4. Harry and Dudley took their newly resized trunks back from Remus, and Harry stared around the platform, hoping to spot a flash of white blonde hair.

"Enjoy the rest of your term, boys," Remus said. After a moment, he added pointedly, "Enjoy the rest of your term, Harry."

Harry blinked and looked back at him. "I'll, er, try," he said, giving Remus an apologetic grimace. "Tell Sirius I say hello."

"You could have told him yourself if you'd been paying any attention on the way over," Tonks told him, grinning. "He was the big black dog that followed ten feet behind us the entire walk to the park."

Dudley shook his head at Harry's startled expression. "Let's go, Harry," he said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him toward the Express. Harry waved at Remus and Tonks and gave the platform one last thorough inspection while he waited for Dudley to lug his trunk up the narrow steps. He couldn't spot anyone he knew in the crowd.

Harry followed Dudley down the narrow corridor, glancing into each compartment as they passed. When Dudley found Hermione sitting in an empty compartment, he pulled the door open, exchanged hellos, and spent a minute wrestling his trunk into the luggage rack. Harry hesitated in the doorway, but at Hermione's concerned glance between Dudley's still red eyes and Harry's hovering, he sighed and brought his trunk in as well.

'His mother left,' he mouthed behind Dudley's back. Hermione's expression dissolved into sympathy, and she stood up to help Dudley secure his trunk.

"It's good to see you both again," Hermione said, letting Dudley sit down first, then sitting next to him. "I'm looking forward to getting back to O.W.L. revision, aren't you?"

Dudley gave her a small smile for her effort, and shrugged. Harry finished securing his own trunk and sat down across from them, just in time for Neville to burst in and start chattering cheerfully at the lot of them about his holiday.

"...and Great Uncle Algie got me a new pot with a shield charm built in for my Mimbulus Mimbetonia, which means no more waking up covered in slime because Seamus knocked into my nightstand on the way to the bathroom!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, and was relieved to see he wasn't the only one hearing about these accidents for the first time. She made a face when she saw he was looking, and they both put on expressions of polite interest when Neville looked at them again.

Neville grinned, not even remotely fooled. "Anyway, how were your holidays?"

Dudley looked down at his knees and shrugged again, clearly miserable. Harry, who was pleased that Dudley hadn't burst into tears or something, shrugged as well and said, "It was a holiday."

"My holiday was lovely," Hermione said, and distracted them all with a story about her parents and their trip to Greece. Harry nodded along but the train was moving now, which meant that either Draco was on board or he wasn't.

Harry stood, cutting Hermione off mid-sentence. "Sorry," he said, backing toward the door as the three of them looked at him curiously. "I've got to go find someone."

He shut the door behind himself and looked up and down the corridor. If he could even find Pansy or Blaise, one of them might know. Taking a deep breath, Harry marched toward the back of the train, looking in the window of every compartment as he passed. All fighting and distrust aside, if Draco didn't come back to Hogwarts it was Harry's fault, full stop. He was the one who had demanded that Draco go out of his way to antagonise his father.

Harry found a few Gryffindors, a group of Ravenclaws which, oddly enough, contained Anthony but not Luna, a lot of younger students, and several groups of Slytherins who very much didn't like him, and who sneered when they saw him peering in at them. Draco wasn't with any of them, but then, he didn't seem to be anywhere.

Staving off panic, Harry moved into the last section of compartments and peered in a window, only to find Blaise and his new girlfriend, kissing. He pulled the door open, startling them both.

"Blaise, have you seen Draco?"

"Harry!" Blaise pulled away from (Harry paused and pulled the name out of his memory) Lisa to stare at him incredulously. "No, I don't mind the interruption at all, yes, I had a lovely holiday, thank you for asking, how was yours? Have you met Lisa?"

Harry went red as the reality of what he was interrupting sunk in. "Er, sorry. My holiday was, ah, good... Y-yes, I think we've met..."

Blaise held up a hand, silencing him. "Wait, did you say you're looking for Draco?"

Harry nodded. "Have you seen him?"

Blaise frowned at him, and for a long, horrible moment, Harry was certain Blaise was about to tell him Draco had gone to Durmstrang.

"I haven't," he said finally, which wasn't much better. "What do you want him for, anyway?"

"I just need to talk to him," Harry said, hoping his worry wasn't too obvious. "I'll keep looking, then. Sorry for bothering you."

"Bye then," Lisa said, which embarrassed Harry all over again. She grinned at his blushing face and waggled her fingers as he shut the door.

He sincerely hoped that if he found Pansy next, she was alone or with friends.

* * *

Harry found Draco toward the front of the train, after retracing his steps past Dudley and the other Gryffindors and continuing on toward the prefect compartments. Draco was headed down the hall with his back to Harry, and Harry let out a long, relieved breath when he saw him. A few seconds passed while he debated whether or not he should let Draco disappear back into his compartment and just be satisfied with knowing he hadn't been shipped off to Europe. It was too late for that, though. He'd have to talk to Draco eventually, especially since Blaise knew Harry'd been searching for him.

"Draco," he called, as he paused in front of his compartment. Draco looked up and dropped his hand, which had been reaching for the door latch.

"I guess you got my letter," Draco said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

"You're not at Durmstrang," Harry pointed out, feeling stupid even as he said it. "That's good."

"Yeah?" Draco smiled a little. "Right. Good."

"Can we..."

Draco nodded and followed Harry wordlessly through the train. Harry's search meant he had a pretty good idea of where the empty compartments were, and he led them to the nearest one he'd spotted.

Once the door was closed and both of them were sat down on opposite sides of the window, Harry cleared his throat.

"So, you're not at Durmstrang."

Draco lifted his hands and nodded. "No. When I wrote that letter, Father was still refusing to accept that I wasn't going to... join." He paused. "He was furious. Mother cried."

"But now?" Harry asked. Draco frowned.

"I made him listen. After I sent you that letter, we talked again and Father said he understood that I have to make my own choices."

Harry leaned back in his seat. "Lucius Malfoy agreed that you have to make your own choices," he repeated, deadpan.

"Er, sort of," Draco said picking at a loose thread on the curtain. "It wasn't exactly a sweeping gesture of goodwill, if that's what you're imagining."

He glanced up and caught Harry's expression. "Well, before all that, he'd said that the Malfoy family stands united at all times, so I said that the entire Malfoy family shouldn't suffer because he made a bad decision, and then-"

Harry leaned forward, incredulous. "You said that to him?"

Draco swallowed, looking ill even at the memory. "Like I said, he was furious. That was when Mother started crying, I think. Anyway, I left so we could all calm down a bit, and I wrote that letter."

"And somehow you went from that to 'Do what you want, Draco'?"

"It took a while," Draco admitted. "I think he and Mother talked while I was in my rooms. When I came back, Father and I shouted at each other for a while longer, and I told him I wasn't going to change my mind, and that I really meant it. He said Hogwarts was a bad influence on me, but I said I don't want to be a Death Eater, whether..." Draco's eyes cut to the window, rather than look Harry in the face. "Well, whether we're friends or not."

Harry nodded, which spurred Draco on to further explanation. "I didn't realise before everything that happened, how extreme the Death Eaters are. But Father is already involved, and he's right, Malfoys should always appear as a united front, and if I don't join, it's like a betrayal of my family. It is a betrayal of my family, and it will make Father vulnerable in front of his enemies and his allies, and I know all that."

He glanced at Harry, who was still waiting (with patience, even) for the part where Draco explained why he didn't want to be a Death Eater.

"I don't want to hurt people," Draco said. He looked small, paler than usual. "I don't understand how having pride in my pure blood means I have to hurt people. You aren't a pureblood, but you don't deserve... to be hurt."

Harry bit the inside of his mouth and made a noise that indicated agreement. Draco continued.

"I told him that, and he just kind of sat down and, and looked disappointed, but that's when he said I make my own choices."

That sounded more like something Lucius Malfoy would say, and the uneasy set of Draco's shoulders finally drove the point home. Harry had given Draco an ultimatum, one he'd chosen in part because he never expected Draco to follow through, and Draco had gone off and done it anyway.

He was such a stubborn prat.

Draco looked at Harry, waiting for a reaction. Harry looked out the window, down at his shoes, at Draco's shoes. He was having difficulty wrapping his head around what Draco had done. That he had basically succeeded. He exhaled noisily.

"I need - I have to think about this," Harry said, raising a hand when Draco looked ready to protest. "I'm not saying we can't be... friendly now, but it's... difficult. I need to think."

Avoiding Draco's gaze, Harry stood up and forced a smile as he backed toward the door. "Thank you," he said to the empty seat next to Draco. "I'll see you at school, yeah?"

Draco nodded, and Harry darted a quick glance at him despite his best intentions. He couldn't read anything in Draco's expression that he wanted to see.

* * *

That night, Pansy and Blaise cornered Harry in the common room. Harry looked between them, but they just stared at him with expectant expressions.

"...Draco and I talked," he said, after a long, awkward minute.

"Yes!" Blaise straightened and grinned at Pansy, who looked between the two of them with wide eyes.

"Let's hear it," she demanded, gripping him by the elbow and steering him over to an empty table in the corner of the room furthest from the fireplaces. They sat down under some left-over garland, and Pansy fixed him with a needle-sharp gaze. Blaise sat down across from her, jubilant and curious.

"All of it," he added. "What happened after you left Lisa and I?"

"I kept looking for him," Harry said, still caught off guard by the intense display of interest. "And then I found him."

"Right, and what did you talk about?" Pansy asked. She and Blaise leaned in, bright eyed and attentive.

Harry blinked and cast around for a moment. "We... er, talked about the row he had with his parents over the holiday."

Pansy nodded with sympathy. "It was pretty awful, from what he told me. But he made his point, right?"

"Right," Harry agreed. "That's all we talked about, really."

Blaise's hopeful smile went flat. "That's all? Harry. What did you say to him?"

Harry looked down at the table. "I said, er. Thank you."

"And then?"

"And then I left?"

Pansy huffed. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" Harry said defensively. "I'm glad he straightened things out with his father, but honestly, Pansy, making the decision to not join the Death Eaters is actually the very least he could do if he wants to be friends again."

Blaise and Pansy sat back in their respective seats. Blaise nodded, sighed, then nodded again.

"That's fair," he said. "But give him a chance, would you? If you never see each other, how can you expect to move past all this?"

"I said we could talk sometimes," Harry admitted. "And that I'd see him at Hogwarts. But not that we're friends again."

Pansy and Blaise's jubilant grins returned. Apparently that was enough for them.

"Fantastic," Blaise said. "On a lighter note, I hear you and Padma Patil are coming with me and Lisa on the next Hogsmeade weekend."

Pansy made a brief face at the mention of Blaise's new girlfriend, but discarded whatever emotion was behind that almost instantly, in favour of an embarrassing amount of intrigue.

"How did you pull that off, Harry?" she asked, grinning. "Padma Patil... oooh, I bet she asked you, didn't she? She's like that."

Harry took a moment from blushing madly to inquire: "Like what?"

Pansy shrugged. "I just think she's far too practical. There's no mystery to it."

"I don't mind that," Harry pointed out. "I don't really like mystery."

Pansy waved a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, what do you know? She's a nice enough girl, though, you'll be fine."

"Fine?" Harry echoed. Blaise leaned in a bit.

"Definitely," he agreed. "Just make sure you wear something nice."

"Oh Merlin, yes," Pansy chimed in. "And do something with your hair."

"My hair?" He stopped himself from reaching up to touch it. "What do I do with it?"

Pansy pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Not that," she decided, as Harry finally caved and smoothed his hair down. "I'll help."

"We'll both help, don't worry." Blaise told Harry, who felt certain he looked like a cornered rabbit. He couldn't help it.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Pansy sat down next to Harry radiating nonchalance. Harry gave her a confused glance, and while he wasn't looking, Blaise sat down across from them with Draco in tow.

Blaise smiled innocently at Harry as he gripped Draco's elbow under the table, and Draco avoided Harry's eye entirely.

Harry sighed and went back to his poached eggs, to the general satisfaction of his friends.

"Good morning, Pansy," Blaise said with unforced cheer. "Isn't it a good morning?"

"It's a positively sparkling morning, Blaise," Pansy replied. "Isn't it, Draco?"

"Er, yeah, it's alright, I guess," Draco replied, taking a piece of toast and glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

"Spiffing," Harry agreed, to waylay any inquiries that might come his way. Blaise snorted into his tea, but Pansy beamed.

"It is," she said. "What a lovely way to start the new term."

The morning owls arrived while she spoke, and the Daily Prophet landed on Blaise's plate. It was folded in half, but the huge block letters and the row of pictures caught Harry's attention.

Blaise picked it up and brushed off a few crumbs as he shook it open.

"Mass breakout from Azkaban," he read. His eyes went wide. "Merlin."

Harry leaned forward and pulled the paper down flat on the table so they could all see it. Blaise smoothed it out as Pansy and Draco moved plates and jam out of the way.

"Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber, Travers, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange-" Blaise trailed off and glanced up at Draco, who had gone ashen.

Harry straightened the paper and looked at the upside-down picture of Bellatrix Lestrange. He remembered that name. She was related to Sirius. Neville had told Harry about her; she was in Azkaban in part for torturing his parents into insanity.

Harry looked up at the Gryffindor table, where Neville, Dudley, and Hermione were all crowded around their own copy of the Prophet. Neville looked like he might be physically ill, and it was obvious that he hadn't told their other friends because they didn't look nearly concerned enough.

Harry waited until Neville looked up, and once he managed to catch his eye, gave him a look that clearly asked, 'are you okay?'

Neville's mouth was tight. He nodded, then sort of shrugged, then stood up and left the Gryffindor table altogether, headed for the doors. Hermione, Dudley and Ron called out to him as he left, but he ignored them.

"Harry," Blaise said slowly. He had his back to the Gryffindor table, so he couldn't possibly know what was going on in Harry's head. "Are you alright?"

Harry returned his attention to his Slytherin friends, who were all watching him with varying expressions of wary concern.

"I'm fine," he said, standing up as Hermione leapt up from the Gryffindor table to follow Neville. "I'll be right back."

He caught up with Hermione as she reached the exit and managed to catch her arm in the Entrance Hall before she could set out to find Neville.

"Leave it, Hermione," he advised. She looked back at him with surprise.

"What do you mean?" She tugged at her arm, and Harry let go. "Do you know why he's so upset?"

"I do," Harry admitted. "Look, just give him ten minutes before you go chasing after him. I'll even tell you where he went, but not for another ten minutes."

"Oh, but class starts in twenty minutes," Hermione said, frowning.

"If you want to go after him, you'll be late," he shrugged. "Don't you have Defense, anyway? Who cares?"

Hermione bit her lip to hide her obvious smile.

"Yes, alright. Back here in ten minutes?"

Harry turned back to the Great Hall. "See you then."

As he returned to the Slytherin table, Draco's stiff posture and Pansy and Blaise's tense expressions reminded him that Neville wasn't the only one with a connection to Bellatrix Lestrange.

"She's your aunt, isn't she?" Harry asked as he dropped into his chair. Draco's jaw clenched.

"Yes."

"That's unfortunate," Harry said. "The ones who escaped, they're all Death Eaters, aren't they?"

Blaise nodded and shifted the paper around so Harry could see. All three of them continued to watch Harry with caution.

"I wonder if this will convince anyone that Voldemort's back?" Harry skimmed through the article. "Oh look," he said fatalistically. "Sirius got a mention. Of course he did."

He looked up at their continued silence and huffed. "I already knew Draco's family are a bunch of evil wankers," he snapped. "I'm not going to attack him because one of them decided to remind everyone."

Draco's mouth twisted with bemusement. "They're not all evil wankers," he said. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco backtracked defensively. "Just some of them." Harry raised the other eyebrow, which made Draco huff. "I'm related to your godfather, too, you know."

Harry accepted this as a valid point and backed down. He went back to reading through the article and wondering what this meant for those who acknowledged Voldemort's return, and those who hadn't yet.

* * *

His answer came two days later, in the form of Educational Decree Number Twenty Six.

"'Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach,'" Pansy read in a clear voice. "'In the case of Defense, teachers are required only to sit quietly at the front of the room and simper.'"

"It doesn't say that," Blaise said.

"It should," Harry said, pushing forward through the crowd surrounding the bulletin board to get a better look.

The Decree was an obvious response to the amount of gossip going around the school lately about what the Azkaban escape meant with regards to Harry and Dumbledore's insistence that Voldemort had returned. All the escapees were former Death Eaters, and the Daily Prophet's insinuation that Sirius's escape set an example for the rest was thin, at least in Harry's opinion. The professors didn't tend to refute Harry's story when asked, which clearly displeased Umbridge.

It was later that morning when Harry realised the new Decree might be a problem in more ways than one. As he and his fellow Slytherins lined up outside the Potions' room, Pansy pulled him a few feet away from everyone else and leaned in.

"Harry, you look atrocious," she said, and proceeded to take her time about fixing his tie and adjusting his collar. "Do you think your private lessons with Snape count in the ban?"

Harry's eyes widened. The thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"I have no idea," he said honestly. "Do you think she even knows we have private lessons?"

"Well," Pansy said, pursing her lips. "You certainly aren't going to tell her. And I doubt Snape would mention it to the Head Inquisitor and risk her interference."

"A lot of the professors know about it, though," Harry said, deciding immediately that Snape was taking an awfully long time to show up for class. He wanted to see what his professor had to say about this. "And some of what we're doing isn't exactly..."

Legal, was the word Harry wasn't going to say in the middle of a public corridor. Pansy caught on and nodded once.

"I guess you're about to find out either way," she said. Snape had arrived and was ushering everyone into the classroom. They had this class with the Gryffindors, which meant that no matter how Snape split them up, Harry was almost guaranteed to have a friend as a partner. Today was no different.

"Mixed House pairs: instructions are on the board," Snape ordered. "The boomslang blood is at the front. You will measure your ration in front of me. No more and no less than two ounces per pair. Spill and you will receive a failing grade for the day."

Blaise, who had possessed the foresight to sit toward the middle of the room, seized Dudley as the nearest approachable Gryffindor. Draco made brief eye contact with Harry and proved himself to be less contrite than he'd appeared since their return to Hogwarts when he nearly dove for Hermione's table. This left Harry the choice of Neville or Ron. Pansy was already moving swiftly toward the latter; Neville might have been a brilliant Herbology partner, but in Potions he was less than useless.

Harry was not one to be defeated by underhanded tactics. Pansy might be caught off guard by Harry using them, though.

"I've got an open seat here, Ron," he called. Ron looked up. Pansy was still ten feet away from him and turned to scowl back at Harry, which gave him the opening he needed. He summoned Ron's bag and cauldron, and Ron shrugged and got up to follow them.

"Hey," Ron said as he sat down. Harry smiled at him. Over Ron's shoulder, Pansy dropped her bag on the table next to Neville, the last remaining Gryffindor in the room, and glared daggers at Harry. He smiled wider.

"How was your holiday?" Harry asked as the two of them set up the cauldron and started preparing the base ingredients. Ron was a decent partner. He was no Hermione, but then, no one but Hermione really managed that.

"It was alright," Ron said. "Charlie and Bill came for Christmas. Charlie brought me a baby dragon's tooth."

"Wow," Harry said. "Are they more of your brothers?"

"The two oldest," Ron explained as he shredded shrivelfigs. "There are seven of us in all."

Harry shook his head as he tried to remember the full list. "Seven, really?"

"Yeah. BillCharliePercyFredGeorgemeandGinny,"

The rapid-fire delivery threw Harry off for a second. He ran a slower version of the list back through his head and grinned. "I'd forgotten Percy."

Ron shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't blame you. I spend a lot of time trying to forget Percy."

Harry decided to let that comment slide. "I'll go get the blood if you like."

"Yeah." Ron shuddered. "Snape likes you Slytherins. If I go up there, I'll get a detention for looking at him funny or something."

Ron didn't lower his voice nearly as much as he should have when he said that, but Snape was fortunately busy hovering like a hawk over the students measuring boomslang blood. His lack of reaction meant he probably hadn't heard.

Harry got in line. When his turn with the blood came, Snape's gaze sharpened.

Harry measured carefully. When he finished, Snape spoke up. "You are one mililiter over, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked and held the tumbler up to reexamine his work.

"Detention, tonight at seven thirty," Snape continued. "For wasting rare and expensive ingredients."

Harry blinked again. Snape's expression was nearly impossible for anyone to read had they not spent as much time with him as Harry had over the years. His dark eyes glinted with well-veiled amusement.

Harry nodded and went back to his seat. Their private lesson tonight started at seven thirty. That answered that question.

Ron looked up as Harry set the blood down on the table and examined it carefully. He didn't think he was over by a mililiter. He assumed Snape was just using it as an excuse, but he still wanted to be sure. This particular potion was very specific.

"Got the blood?" Ron asked conversationally.

Harry nodded, still peering at the tumbler. "And a detention," he added, deciding with his own stifled amusement that Snape had almost definitely heard Ron earlier, as this was exactly Snape's sense of humour. He also decided that the blood was fine.

Ron's eyes bugged out a bit and he demanded, "For what?"

Harry shrugged. "Looking at him funny?" After a beat, he glanced at Ron and grinned.

"You're having me on."

"Nope."

"Blimey. Better you than me, mate," Ron said, baffled at Harry's lack of ire.

"Cheers, Ron, really," Harry responded, and they spent the rest of the class brewing amicably.


	14. The Date

That night, Harry turned up at Snape's office at seven thirty on the dot. He knocked, and Snape had only just pulled the door open when a soft clearing of the throat to his right froze him in place.

"Hem hem," Umbridge repeated, and Harry turned to look at her alongside Snape, whose expression had settled into a polite curiosity that was far too still to be truly genuine.

"Professor Snape? I understand that Mr Potter is here for a private lesson?" Umbridge said, consulting a clipboard in her hands and peering back up at them with large, satisfied eyes. "As High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, I'm sure you know it is my duty to observe any and all lessons, private or public, in order to ensure that our students receive only the finest quality education."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Inside, Potter. High Inquisitor Umbridge, after you." He stepped aside to allow them entrance. Umbridge's glance around the room betrayed a hint of distaste as she took in the many clear glass containers filled with unidentifiable organic material. She settled her gaze on Harry and Snape, adjusting the parchments and quill in her hands with fastidious care.

Harry looked at Snape and wondered what had happened to the detention cover, if it had only been a way of privately telling Harry to show up despite Umbridge's new rules. He decided it must have been, as Umbridge had clearly already known about their lessons before Potions this morning.

Harry sat down in his customary spot and became immediately uncomfortable, as both professors remained standing. Umbridge opened her mouth, but Snape was already speaking, smooth and as unruffled by her presence as Harry was trying to look. "As you are undoubtedly aware, these private lessons are sanctioned by the Headmaster and myself, following from my duties as Slytherin Head of House. Mr Potter has professed a certain interest in a career in curse breaking after his graduation."

Harry did not react to that bit of new information, and watched as Snape barreled on, not allowing Umbridge a chance to cut in.

"I work closely with my students who dedicate themselves to furthering their studies, and Mr Potter has completed a positive plethora of extracurricular work which has demonstrated his commitment to his chosen future beyond a shadow of a doubt."

Umbridge hmmed at this made a note on her clipboard. "Very well," she said, frowning at Snape where he stood just to the right of Harry's chair. "Carry on as you normally would." She took a step back and fixed her gaze on Harry, with clear visible doubt that he could actually be a dedicated student.

"Very well," Snape echoed, and executed a sharp series of movements that landed him in his chair behind his desk, facing Harry. " _Tell me your opinion of Briggs's theory of mind._ "

Harry remained calm, but only because Snape was watching him steadily and would obviously murder him outright if Harry strayed from whatever plot he'd devised. But honestly, did he expect Harry to  _answer_ in _Parseltongue_?

A second ticked past, and it appeared that he did.

" _Professor, I don't-_ "

" _As we normally would, Mr Potter, as the woman said._ "

" _But-_ "

"What is that you're speaking?" Umbridge demanded, her quill digging into the parchment attached to her clipboard. Her eyes were wide and she looked quite prepared to be appalled.

Snape lifted his head to glance at her, a polite frown marring his brow. "Uspantek, High Inquisitor. Mr Potter has dedicated himself to curse breaking, as I said, and he has expressed a particular interest in South American magic. This language will be of great use for him when he visits the Mayan magical community."

Umbridge opened her mouth and closed it several times. "Uspantek," she repeated. Snape nodded and turned back to Harry as she busied herself with her clipboard, scribbling furiously.

" _Briggs's theory, Mr Potter,_ " Snape repeated. Harry kept his eyes away from Umbridge and answered.

"... _I liked the part about personal identity and- Professor, people know I speak Parseltongue, isn't it a bit obvious -"_

Snape paused and consulted a thick tome on his desk, as though looking for the answer to an academic question Harry had posed.  _"I sincerely doubt a Ministry lackey of her ...caliber has come across one of the four or five people alive in the past fifty years who speak the language, unless you have spoken it in front of her, that is. In any case, it's unlikely that she will be willing to call our bluff, not at this stage, not when there aren't any obvious snakes in the room to draw the language from. Now, as you were saying..._ "

Harry hesitated. It seemed like a gamble, but Umbridge hadn't interrupted them yet. He glanced over and found her watching him with narrow eyes.  _"Er. He talked about the... vastness of internal, er-_ "

" _The vastness of internal gestalt,_ " Snape finished, with a short nod. " _Indeed. What ramifications do his ideas have when you consider your approach to finding the answer to a particular question within the mind of another wizard?_ "

Harry chewed on his lip for a second, refusing to react to Umbridge shifting to his right, nor to the sound of quill on parchment, which had resumed. " _Well, I guess what he was saying was that, er, a person's thoughts aren't going to always form in a way that makes sense to someone else? Because the way we think is mostly caused by past experiences and everyone has their own interpretation of what happens to them, anyway. So if you wanted to find out what I got for my birthday this year, er, first you'd have to puzzle out what the oven had to do with it, and Mrs Figg, because we were in the kitchen when Dudley gave me my present. I remember looking at the oven, and Mrs Figg was always trying to feed me burnt cakes when I was little on my birthdays, and that wouldn't make sense to anyone but me, especially since he got me a set of gobstones, but it would make perfect sense to me, because the nasty smelling stuff in gobstones smells a lot like some of the custard filling in Mrs Figg's cakes. So I suppose you'd have to sort of... decode someone's way of thinking to even know what they were thinking, unless you managed to convince them to think it at you in plain English, which sounds a lot less complicated to me. But then it'd be easier for them to know what you'd found._ "

Snape followed this train of thought better than Harry could have hoped, and nodded. " _Excellent. I will take your essay after this saggy, cloying excuse for a dictator leaves us._ "

Harry blinked. At least half of every lesson was practical, and from the way Snape was looking at him, daring him to react, this was it. The focus of their work was no longer Occlumency, but Snape continued to test his limits by challenging his focus and ability to Occlude under stress. Usually he did so through duelling or by demanding rapid fire answers to increasingly difficult questions, but it seemed he was trying a new tact today.

" _I have the essay in my bag, sir._ " Snape's eyes glinted, and Harry knew the practical portion had only just begun.

" _I suggest advising the Slytherin Quidditch Team to take caution, should they spot our detestable High Inquisitor near the pitch during practice,_ " Snape said, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands together with what appeared to be academic interest. " _I have heard several students liken her to a toad, and I would hate to lose the Cup because she mistook one of our players for a particularly juicy fly and caused them injury._ "

Harry nodded slowly. " _I'll mention it,_ " he said, the picture of an earnest student, even pausing to scribble something in line with their cover story on the parchment in his lap: ' _practice animal vocab._ ' Umbridge narrowed her eyes at the pair of them, then addressed Harry specifically.

"What are you saying?" she asked, with a tone to her question that said she was already past furious but was restraining herself for lack of appropriate outlet.

"Well we try to practice, ah, Uspantek as often as possible, so Professor Snape asked me to describe my morning," Harry explained, looking Umbridge directly in the eye and focusing more deliberately on his Occluding, just in case. "I said, I woke up and Greg had used up all the hot water, so I had a really short shower, and then for breakfast I had two pieces of toast and a bowl of oatmeal, and usually I would have had strawberry jam, but there wasn't any, there was only marmalade, so I had it with butter instead, and then in Transfiguration I had to try the levitation spell twice because Pansy shouted at me and I broke my first glass, and then -"

Umbridge drew herself up to the extent of her unintimidating height and glared at him. "Mr Potter, do you honestly expect me to believe such tripe?"

Harry blinked at her, brow furrowed just a little bit, as though in confusion, and decided to buy Anthony a bookstore in thanks for the constant chatter about language learning methods back in second year. "We were revising food vocabulary, and the simple past tense, ma'am," he said earnestly. Behind his desk, Snape watched the exchange with quiet serenity. "And then Snape was explaining the, er, subjunctive."

"Language acquisition is achieved more easily through a fully immersive experience," Snape added. Umbridge twisted her head around to stare him down. Harry couldn't believe how much he was enjoying this.

"Be that as it may." she said, her voice strained. "I have a few questions, Professor Snape." She took a breath and looked back at her clipboard, composing herself. "How is it that you have such mastery of this language? I don't believe it is commonly known."

"It is a rather unusual dialect," Snape allowed, bowing his head in agreement. "When Mr Potter came to me with his ambitions several years ago, I began looking into his area of interest and learned that, while there are other, commoner languages that may be of use to him, such as Portuguese or Spanish, Uspantek is the language in which most ancient Mayan wizards practiced their craft. When Mr Potter proved himself to be in earnest, and willing to put in the necessary effort, I decided it would be well worth my time to gain an understanding of the language in order that I might tutor him in this as well as in Arithmancy and the Revelative Arts, both of which he will of course study far more intensively in his sixth and seventh years."

"I would prefer that you focus on those lessons for the remainder of our time," Umbridge said stiffly. "In English, if you please."

"As you wish, High Inquisitor," Snape answered, and launched into a highly technical speech about some kind of Arithmantical formula that Harry was almost positive he'd never heard of. He frowned. He could have at least done Ancient Runes. Harry wasn't half bad at Ancient Runes.

Snape caught his eye after about eight minutes spent explaining in great detail the exact angle of casting necessary to invoke Democritus's Law of Tangencies, and Harry realised he'd allowed his Occlumency walls to slip a bit in his boredom.

"Mr Potter, tell me, how many degrees differ between an arc and a loop in a ritual casting?" Harry looked up from strengthening his walls, dismayed. Snape waited with a raised eyebrow.

It was an obvious invitation to attempt to find the answer in Snape's mind. Umbridge certainly wouldn't have that kind of knowledge, if the absent, glazed expression on her face over the past fifteen minutes was anything to go by.

Snape wanted him to use Legilimency right in front of Umbridge. Clearly he had a higher opinion of Harry's skills than Harry did. But Snape was still waiting for an answer, so Harry inhaled slowly, looked directly into Snape's eyes, and pushed.

* * *

"So then I answer questions about advanced Arithmancy for the rest of the lesson, and when we're done, Snape looks at Umbridge and says, 'Thank you for your time. Your presence tonight has been invaluable.'" Harry looked at his friends with wide, despairing eyes. "It was madness."

Hermione had covered her mouth with one hand, but Pansy, who had joined them at their usual post in the library in order to hear the story, had abandoned all pretense and was cackling unrestrainedly into her arms where they were folded on the table.

"Our Head of House is so much better than yours," she told the Gryffindors. Neville and Dudley didn't manage to look too offended, still caught up as they were in the audacity of Harry's tale. "Harry, you have to tell Blaise and Draco, you can't let them go another minute without knowing what a  _good person_  Snape is."

Pansy stood up and shouldered her bag, leaning toward the exit and waiting for Harry to follow.

"I'll be along in a few minutes," Harry said, the corners of his mouth turning up in spite of himself at the still beatific smile she wore as she left them.

"Snape's brave," Hermione said, once she'd left. Harry nodded.

"Or something like it," he said diplomatically. "He must have had good reason, though. Snape doesn't just do things."

"Right," Hermione said, looking down at the books and parchments in front of her. Some of it looked like classwork, but Harry saw lesson plans and charts, and something that looked like a schedule which was more full that was physically possible without Hermione's Time Turner. "Thanks for the break, Harry, but I've got to get back to this..."

"Of course," Harry said. She didn't look any more stressed than usual, but that said very little. Neville and Dudley were talking in low voices next to them. Neville looked tired, but the Lestrange breakout didn't seem to be on his mind, currently. He looked concerned with what Dudley was saying. Harry thought about trying to join in the conversation, but decided against it when Neville nodded sympathetically and said something that made Dudley frown in a thoughtful way and fall silent.

"I'll see you guys later?" Harry asked, standing. The three of them nodded and said various distracted goodbyes, and Harry took the long way out of the library to pass by Anthony and Luna's table as he usually did.

"Afternoon," he said to Luna, who was sitting alone at the table, frowning at a book. She looked up at the sound of his voice and smiled.

"Hello, Harry." She moved some of the papers away from the seat next to her, and Harry sat, looking around at the substantially smaller than usual pile of work on the table.

"Where's Anthony?" he asked, glancing around the library as though he might suddenly appear from the stacks, which was usually a distinct possibility.

"With friends," Luna said. Her eyes fell to the book in front of her while Harry processed her words.

"With- wait." He looked around again, at Luna and the books. "Is there another library they only tell the Ravenclaws about?"

"He's not there." Luna shook her head. "He's with friends. Older students."

Harry shook his head, looking around at the lack of books and the quiet despondency in the set of Luna's shoulders. "I've been friends with Anthony since first year," he said. "Anthony doesn't  _have_ other friends, outside of his dorm mates. Anthony didn't even want to be  _my_  friend until I stopped bothering him about going outside."

"You still do that," Luna pointed out, a bit of her smile coming back. Harry huffed.

"Obviously you see my point," he said.

"He said he's decided to branch out," Luna explained, looking a bit baffled by the idea herself. "He said he wanted to gather primary experiential data about social identity and group-structural dynamics."

Harry put his head in his hands. "What did you let him read, Luna?"

Luna studied the pile of books in front of her. "I have no influence over Anthony's recreational reading schedule, Harry, you've seen it yourself."

"I know," Harry muttered. "It's the only non-flexible part of that calendar of his."

"I think I saw him reading something by Milgram, but I didn't get a good look at the title," she admitted.

"I don't know who that is," Harry said. "But if it's got him making friends..." He paused. Was that a good thing or a bad thing when it came to Anthony? "We'll let it be for now, I suppose," he said. Luna nodded, though she still looked gloomy, so Harry ended up staying another hour, giving her a brief summary of the lessons he'd had over the past week with Anthony and talking about crumple horned snorkacks, which he was eighty five percent sure were a thing Anthony would write down.

He wrote the name down himself, just in case.

* * *

"Harry, you can't wear that, she'll laugh at you if you wear that." Pansy said, snatching the offending jumper out of his grasp. Harry paled a little.

"Pansy, I can't believe you. She won't  _laugh_  at you, Harry," Blaise said reassuringly, taking the jumper away from her in turn. He held it up to examine it and frowned. "But no, don't wear that."

Harry sat down on his bed and tried to put on his shoes. "Oh-" Pansy said, and he glared at her.

"If you tell me my shoes are hideous too, Pansy, I'm going to hide under my bed until Monday," he threatened. Pansy paused.

"They're lovely," she said with a weak smile. Harry huffed and tossed the shoes in a corner.

"Blaise, I'm using yours," he said, standing up and advancing on Blaise's trunk with his wand drawn. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"We aren't the same size, Harry, just use Draco's," Blaise said, his voice emerging muffled from Harry's wardrobe. "I thought we made you get rid of that in first year," he wondered out loud. Harry didn't bother asking what he'd found.

"Ugh, is it that awful ora-" Pansy met Harry's gaze and her eyes went wide. "I mean, never mind that, Blaise! Harry needs our support right now. I'll go find those shoes."

"She's going to like you, Harry," Blaise said, finally emerging with an acceptable button down shirt and handing it over. "She already does. I mean, she asked  _you_  to Hogsmeade."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said, fumbling with his buttons out of nerves. "What do I talk about?"

"Just don't go on about Quidditch scores the whole time, and you'll be fine!" Pansy called.

"How do you know she isn't a fan?" Blaise challenged, glancing over his shoulder.

"Padma Patil does  _not_  like Quidditch," Pansy said, emerging from Draco's wardrobe with the shoes and handing them over. "I did a bit of research for you, Harry. She likes Arithmancy and she's in the Gobstones Club. She has a twin sister name Parvati in Gryffindor who, from the look of things, likes sugar and spice and everything pink. She knows Anthony and doesn't seem to mind Luna, so she's obviously very tolerant. Just ask her questions about herself and let her talk most of the time, and she'll love you."

"He's not going out with  _you_ , Pansy," Blaise said. Pansy scowled at him.

"Harry has to listen to me if he wants to learn how to be charming around women," she retorted. "It's not like he has any  _male_  friends who know what they're doing."

Harry let out a huge sigh, forgetting to be nervous as the two of them bickered. Being friends again didn't mean they didn't sometimes snap at each other. "I'm just going to wing it," he decided out loud.

* * *

Harry decided to meet everyone in Hogsmeade, as he hadn't wanted to walk alone with Blaise and Lisa. It was a bit cold, so he'd worn his nice cloak over the clothing his friends had picked out for him, feeling the nerves seep back in.

"You look like you're about to go on a date," said a female voice directly behind him. He turned and reddened when he realised it was Padma. She didn't howl with laughter or disgust at his clothing or hair, so he assumed Pansy and Blaise had succeeded, at least.

"Er, you look really nice," he said. Her long hair was pinned up and she was wearing a very pretty blue color.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "Shall we walk the rest of the way together?"

Harry nodded. "Sure."

They fell into step and walked in silence while Harry thought frantically of something to talk about that wasn't Quidditch.

"Did you enjoy your holiday?" Padma asked, and Harry swore internally. That was a good question; he should have asked that.

"It was mostly good," he said. "My godfather went a little overboard, but it was a lot of fun. How about you? Did you enjoy Birmingham this year?"

Padma beamed at him. "I always do," she said. "Our aunt and uncle took us to the muggle theatre to see a play. It was very... confusing, actually. None of us had the first clue what was going on."

Harry nodded, smiling back. She had a very pretty smile. "Was it the muggle parts, or just the whole play?"

"I don't think I know enough about muggles to know the answer to that question," she admitted, shaking her head. "There was a part where they just sat in a box and there was a strange growling and the man peered out at us from behind a window and fiddled with a wheel. I had no idea what was happening."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I don't know!" she said, shaking her head. "Was that a muggle thing or just a thing?"

After a few seconds of silence while Harry frowned thoughtfully, he eventually came up with, "Could he have been pretending to drive a car?"

"Harry, you must know I didn't take Muggle Studies," Padma said. "All my family are witches and wizards, and we spend very little time around muggles. I don't know what that is."

"It's..." Harry's eyebrows pulled together as he tried to find a way to describe cars. "Well, it's a small metal room with wheels, and you sit in it and you can make it take you places."

"Odd," Padma said. They had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade by now, and walked in step down the main street. "Why don't they just use the Floo?"

"They don't have magic," Harry reminded her. She looked startled.

"I forget, sometimes, how different it must be," she said. "I wouldn't like being a muggle."

They found Blaise and Lisa holding hands near the Three Broomsticks and talking quietly to each other. Harry immediately remembered to be nervous again.

"I see you've found each other," Lisa said, grinning at them both as they walked up. "Where shall we go? I suggested Madam Puddifoots-"

"-But then I said it's such a nice day out," Blaise interrupted, smiling at her. "Who wants to be cooped up in a tiny tea shop?"

The expression on his face when he looked at Harry was a very pointed 'you're welcome', which Harry decided not to question.

"I'm fine with walking around a little," Padma said, and Harry nodded along.

"Me, too."

"Alright," Lisa allowed. "But eventually we'll have stop for something warm to drink. It's still bloody cold, Blaise."

Blaise used her complaining as an excuse to wrap his arm around her waist, and she looked pleased. Harry felt pressured and did nothing of the sort with Padma, who didn't seem to mind the cold. They walked, and Harry began to understand the point of having the other two there. He was allowed to fall silent at times and listen instead of having to come up with something to say, and when Harry worked up the nerve to take advantage of their hands brushing occasionally, Padma agreeably twined their fingers together while debating with Lisa about where they wanted to go.

"I need a new quill set," Padma said stubbornly, glancing at Harry. Lisa scoffed.

"You don't take a cute boy like that to Scrivenshaft's," she said. Fortunately, everyone was looking away from Harry and missed his embarrassingly violent blush.

"We can stop there if you want, Padma," he offered, and all three of them, Blaise included, looked on him suddenly with approving expressions. It was a little disconcerting.

"You see? Harry doesn't mind at all," Padma said, tugging Harry away from Blaise and Lisa. "We'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks in half an hour, how's that?"

In Scrivenshaft's, Harry dutifully followed Padma to the quill section, where she glanced around and pulled him down the aisle to the self inking quills. "I like you, Harry," she said, still holding his hand loosely as she frowned over the selection.

"I... like you too," he said, hoping that was the right response.

"You're so serious all the time," she said, glancing back at him. "It's difficult not to tease you a little, but I am trying."

Harry blinked. That didn't seem like a good thing at all. Maybe this was more flirting. Maybe she was just hinting that she thought he was awkward. He had no idea what to say.

"Er, well, thank you for trying?" he offered, relief washing over him when she laughed.

"I found what I wanted here," she said, picking up a pack of quills and pulling him, unexpectedly, toward the back of the shop where there were less people. He followed without quite knowing where they were going, and only ended up catching on when she turned and looked up at him expectantly, suddenly very close. He panicked a little, but she didn't seem to notice and he managed to successfully kiss her without breaking her nose or his ego by doing something embarrassing.

When they turned up at the Three Broomsticks twenty minutes later as agreed, he couldn't look at Blaise or Lisa, largely because of all the smirking and eyebrow waggling Lisa was directing at Padma.

* * *


	15. The Detentions

 

The next week yielded a new Educational Decree. Somehow, Harry wasn’t surprised.

“Ban on private lessons, pending submission of syllabus to the High Inquisitor for approval,” Harry read out loud. Pansy, Blaise and Draco hovered next to him at the announcements board, concerned. “If that’s not a direct attack on me and Snape...”

“Oh, it is,” Pansy agreed. “No question, really.”

Harry huffed and turned back to his friends. No one else seemed particularly concerned about the newest Decree. It wouldn’t affect them. He had no doubt that, for example, Neville’s extra lessons with Sprout would get approved out of hand. The only lessons under scrutiny were Harry’s.

The four of them left the common room together, heading up to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry was still stewing over the new Decree.

“Snape must have a contingency plan,” Blaise pointed out. “He had to know this was a possibility.”

“He can just lie about the lessons,” Pansy said. “She already thinks you’re learning that language and Arithmancy and what not.”

“Yes, but if she’s gone out of her way to gain control over our lessons, I doubt she’ll just decide to be nice and approve them,” Harry grumbled. “She’s going to refuse him.”

“Then Snape won’t give you lessons anymore,” Draco said, lowering his voice as they stepped into the Great Hall. He looked tired, but the last time they’d spoken he’d looked tired, too. Harry thought he might still be arguing with his father, and tried to put it out of his mind. He was trying to think positively about Draco these days, and associating him with his father wasn’t the way to do it. “He’ll give you... meetings after class, or detention, or career counselling.”

Blaise nodded. “Draco’s right, there’re plenty of official reasons for you and Snape to speak to each other.”

“It’d have to do with Potions, though,” Pansy realised. “Because of the last Decree. Teachers can’t talk to students about anything apart from their class subjects.”

Harry groaned. “Which we only got around because Dumbledore was technically paying Snape to tutor me.”

“Snape will think of something,” Draco said firmly. The four of them sat down at the Slytherin table, and Harry watched his friends reach for toast and eggs, his own appetite out of commission. “He will. He’s clever. There’s a reason he’s the Head of Slytherin.”

The four of them looked as one up at the teacher’s table, where Snape sat, calmly eating his own breakfast.

“I’ll ask him after class,” Harry decided. Blaise poured him a glass of orange juice as Pansy dropped a muffin on his plate.

“Good plan,” she told him. “Now eat.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the two of them, but under their gaze, ate the muffin and more.

 

* * *

 

“ _Mister_ Potter,” Snape barked halfway through Potions, suddenly at Harry’s shoulder. Harry jumped, surprised, and nearly spilled the powdered root he’d been about to tip into his cauldron. 

“Sir?”

“Are you illiterate?”

Harry looked up at Snape with wide, confused eyes. “Er, no sir?”

Snape scowled at him. “Strange. Did you read the instructions for this potion?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry set down the root and tried not to react like every Gryffindor Snape had ever scolded. He’d seen this situation a thousand times during class, but he hadn’t experienced it from this side before. Snape was usually a little kinder to his Slytherins when pointing out their errors.

“And yet you persist in ruining a perfectly good Mugwort Mixture.”

Harry scanned the instructions frantically, wondering where he’d gone wrong. Maybe the powdered root was too fine?

“Mister Potter, are you deaf now as well as dumb?” Snape prodded, and Harry caught the briefest flick of his eyebrow before his expression settled back into a derisive stare.

“I don’t think I did anything wrong, sir,” Harry said abruptly, lifting his chin in defiance. The rest of the class, which had been mildly interested in the exchange if anything, fell into a dead silence. All eyes were fixed on Snape and Harry. Pansy, his partner for the day, subtly shifted her chair away and stared down at the half crushed teeth in front of her on the desk.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. Harry prayed silently that he hadn’t misread the situation.

“Of course you don’t,” Snape replied, his voice low and terrifyingly calm. Harry held his breath. “Arrogance runs in the family, doesn’t it?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, despite his continued hope that they were acting. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, professor.”

“Detention,” Snape said thoughtfully. “For a week. Perhaps by the end, you will understand that a Potter can, and often will be, wrong.”

Harry’s poisonous glare was directed at the left side of his desk rather than at Professor Snape, but the other students could still see, and that was what mattered. Snape stood watching him for a second, and eventually moved on to the next cauldron. The class slowly resumed its usual activity, and Blaise and Draco turned in their seats to stare at Harry, who was still scowling.

“Harry?” Pansy breathed, watching Snape move through the room out of the corner of her eye. “That was what we talked about at breakfast, right?”

“It was,” Harry said shortly, carrying on his disgruntled act and hoping he wasn’t wrong. Pansy went back to crushing her teeth, which seemed to signal to Blaise and Draco that everything was fine. Across the room, Harry’s Gryffindor friends were still staring openly, shocked. There wasn’t much Harry could do at this point to reassure them, so he simply pulled his list of instructions closer, comparing it to Pansy’s to see what he’d copied wrong.

The root was meant to be added after the potion turned green, which meant Harry had forgotten to stir. He picked up the glass stirring rod and continued with his potion, hiding his satisfaction when it did in fact, turn green. His gaze flickered up to where Snape was standing next to a couple Gryffindors Harry didn’t know well, and met Snape’s gaze for long enough to receive an almost invisible nod.

* * *

 

“What was that?” Hermione demanded after class, hurrying to catch up with Harry and his Slytherin friends as they left the dungeons. Neville and Dudley weren’t far behind, and even Ron was trailing them curiously.

“What’d you do to get him so angry at you?” Neville asked, glancing back as though Snape might be standing there, waiting to shout at them for associating with Harry. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Snape’s a git,” he said in a slightly louder voice than was entirely necessary. “He insulted my dad in our last lesson and we got in an argument.” 

Sirius was always telling Harry elaborate stories about his parents from their school days, so Harry was well aware of how much Snape and his father hadn’t gotten along. Snape’s words in class had set up the perfect excuse for why they were suddenly at odds, and Harry was going to run with it as best he could.

“Oh, but Harry, he’s still a teacher,” Hermione said, her tone suggesting that she was about to dive into a lecture. “You can’t talk back to him like you did; I can’t believe you told him you weren’t wrong!”

“I almost had a heart attack,” Dudley agreed, glancing back like Neville had before continuing. “Dean thinks you’re a hero for saying that to Snape and not getting killed on the spot.”

Blaise lifted an eyebrow at Dudley. “I suppose Finnegan still thinks he’s--”

Pansy put her elbow in his side, which meant Harry didn’t get to hear what Finnegan thought of him. According to the look Pansy shot at Blaise, he didn’t want to know. He’d ask Dudley later.

Draco nudged Harry while Pansy distracted Hermione and the other Gryffindors with an argument about whether Snape had a right to give Harry a whole week of detentions. Pansy deftly managed to put off Hermione’s urge to lecture, which Harry was always nothing less than impressed by. 

“Told you he’d figure out a way,” Draco said as the whole group of them started up the main staircase toward their next classes. They were able to speak quietly under the chatter of the others.

“I guess I knew he would,” Harry agreed. “I’m sure she’ll figure out a way to ruin this, too.”

“Then he’ll figure out a way to fix it again,” Draco said, shrugging. “He’s Snape. She’s just a Ministry lackey with an ego.”

Harry huffed a short laugh. “I’m a little worried that you might be underestimating her.”

Draco raised a superior eyebrow. “I have it on good word that she was a Slytherin in school, too.  I’d never underestimate her. And Snape definitely won’t.”

* * *

Harry’s first detention of the week with Snape was in an hour, so he finished his dinner early and was on his way back to Slytherin to finish the last essay Snape had assigned in their private lessons. It wasn’t technically due until Thursday, but Harry had no idea what Snape had planned for these detentions. Maybe he wanted to move more quickly with so many meetings at their disposal, and would expect it finished today.

He hardly made it out into the Entrance Hall when he met Padma walking down the main staircase with her sister.

“Hello, Harry,” she said pleasantly. Her sister echoed her greeting, and Harry had a frantic moment of trying to remember her name. He couldn’t forget Padma’s twin sister’s name; Pansy had already informed him that Padma would be within her rights to never speak to him again if he did.

“Her name is Parvati, you utter prat, I’ve told you a hundred times,” Pansy had said. Harry felt an enormous swell of relief at the memory.

“Hello Padma, Parvati,” Harry replied as they reached the bottom of the steps. Despite being identical twins, the two of them were wildly different, even without their House colours to distinguish them. Harry knew he’d never confuse them. Padma’s smile toward him was small but genuine, while Parvati’s was perfunctory and her gaze searching. Parvati might have been wearing her House colours, but the Gryffindor tie was offset by a shocking pink hair clip and oversized gold butterfly earrings. Harry took a moment to be relieved that Padma didn’t take after her sister in that way.

“Have you already finished dinner?” Padma asked, stopping in front of him. Parvati hovered at her side, dark eyes looking Harry up and down critically. Harry nodded, mentally cataloguing how many things she might find fault with. His tie was still neat, at least, and Blaise hadn’t actively insulted his hair at any point today. It couldn’t be too bad.

“Yeah, I have a detention with Snape tonight, so I ate early,” Harry explained. He didn’t want to admit it in front of Padma and her silently judging sister. In fact, he’d much rather tell them both how clever he and Snape were being in subverting Umbridge’s attempts to control their lessons, but that would be very stupid.

Very, very stupid, he reminded himself again as Parvati raised an eyebrow.

“I heard about that,” Padma said, nodding. “Apparently he was being very unfair.”

Relief blossomed in Harry’s chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to jump too eagerly on the out she’d given him. “Well, I mean, yeah. It’s a bit of a long story.”

“I heard you swore at him,” Parvati said. Harry blinked at her, shocked.

“What?” he asked. “No! I’d be dead.”

Padma laughed and glanced sidelong at her sister. “I told you he wouldn’t have.” Parvati seemed almost disappointed.

“What did you say?” she asked. “I missed class today; I had a meeting with Professor McGonagall.”

“Er,” Harry said, embarrassed. The brunt of the story involved Snape’s personal history with his father, and Harry didn’t exactly want to spread that around to anyone who didn’t already know, least of all to the girl he liked and her sister. “Well, he said I had done the potion wrong and I…ah. Disagreed.”

“And all you got was a detention?” Parvati asked, shocked. “I can’t believe Snape would only give you a detention!”

“A week’s worth,” Harry corrected. He looked at Padma and tried to change the subject to something he’d been gathering his courage for since Hogsmeade. “Have you had time to work on that essay for--”

“That’s still not a lot, though,” Parvati interrupted, still stuck on Harry’s detentions. “If one of us Gryffindors had done it, it would’ve been House points too.”

Harry looked back at her even as Padma spoke. “Snape is Snape, Parvati, you know what he’s like.” She glanced at Harry apologetically.

“Yes, and that’s the problem,” Parvati agreed, and her own glance at Harry gave the impression that she thought Snape’s entire personality was somehow his fault. Harry felt his hackles go up at her accusatory tone, and tried not to show it.

“Well,” he said instead. He looked back to Padma and tried to change the subject again. “Er, the essay for Ancient Runes, have you had time to work on it?”

“Not much,” Padma admitted, glancing at Parvati, who looked annoyed at Harry’s refusal to argue about Snape.

“I thought maybe we could do the research together,” he offered hopefully. “Maybe tomorrow after classes?”

“She can’t,” Parvati interrupted. Even Padma turned to stare at her, and she shrugged, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Harry privately thought her hair wasn’t as nice as Padma’s. “Well, we were going to write home tomorrow, weren’t we?”

“Oh, I had forgotten about that,” Padma said, frowning a bit. She turned back to Harry and chewed on her lip. “How about after dinner instead?”

Harry deflated, his earlier false anger at Snape briefly flaring into genuine irritation. “I can’t, I have those detentions.”

“Oh, right,” Padma said, frowning. Parvati glanced between them with a touch of impatience in her face. 

“Do you have a free hour tomorrow?” Padma asked finally. “Mine is at three.”

“Eleven,” Harry said, making a face. Parvati huffed and cut in again.

“Look, if you absolutely _must_ make plans to write this wretched paper together before we can go to dinner, Padma and I can write to our parents tomorrow night and the two of you can be swots after classes.” She adjusted the strap of her bag and looked pointedly at her sister. “I need to talk to Lavender, can we _go_?”

Padma and her sister exchanged a long, speaking glance, and Parvati folded her arms and rolled her eyes. She moved away, though, waiting instead by the door to the Great Hall. Padma smiled at Harry, apparently amused at her sister’s annoyance. “Sorry about her,” she said in an undertone as she stepped closer to Harry. “She’s usually very sweet; she’s just in a hurry at the moment.”

Harry nodded. Personally, he thought Parvati was more than a little obnoxious, and nothing Hermione had ever said about her roommate suggested he was wrong. But she was Padma’s sister, and he wasn’t about to disagree. He knew how people got about their families. “It’s fine,” he said, instead of everything else he’d thought during their stilted, three way conversation. “I didn’t mind.”

“Good,” Padma said, glancing over Harry’s shoulder before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. All of Harry’s irritation melted away, and suddenly he didn’t mind Padma’s annoying sister, who was still hovering in the background somewhere. She pulled away almost immediately, eyes bright. Harry realized he was blushing around when she started talking again. “I’ll see you tomorrow after classes in the library.”

“Er, okay, yeah,” he said, nodding. She waved goodbye and left to join her sister on the way to dinner, and Harry followed her with his eyes until the doors shut behind her. A quick glance at his watch told him there was no way he’d finish Snape’s essay in time for their meeting, and he headed back to Slytherin at a slower pace, a small, slightly stupid smile on his face.

* * *

 

 _Harry was somewhere he’d never been. That was the first thing that struck him; he didn’t know this room. The windows were tall and narrow, stretching from floor to ceiling on three of the walls, surrounded by bookshelves of a similar height. A mahogany spiral staircase led up to a second floor that was little more than a catwalk to allow interested readers to pursue the higher levels. The couches and chairs scattered around the room were blue, as were the curtains._

_Someone was speaking to him in low hurried tones that blurred in Harry’s ears until he focused on their face._

_“…they’re all on board, but Warrington doesn’t think you have the guts,” the student was saying. Harry recognized the Ravenclaw crest on his robes, as well as the blue and bronze tie, and suddenly the room made more sense. The question of why Harry was here was another story._

_“Listen to me,” Harry found himself replying in a curt, unamused tone that he’d never heard from his own mouth before, though it matched the unfamiliar anger boiling under his skin. “Tell Warrington that if he thinks he has even an infinitesimal chance of success without us, he’s welcome to try. Until then, you have the upper hand, Bradley.”_

_Bradley straightened up in his seat, visibly bolstered by Harry’s words. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised._

_Satisfaction thrummed through Harry; his mind settled. “Sooner, rather than later,” he ordered, turning back to his books in a clear gesture of dismissal._

 

Harry sat up in his bed in a cold sweat. His heart was racing, head pounding fiercely. That hadn’t felt like a normal dream. He swallowed hard and rubbed his face with one hand, pulling his knees up and tugging the blankets closer in the cold that came of leaving his bed curtains partly open to the dungeon air before falling asleep.

That hadn’t felt like a normal dream. Harry kept coming back to it, the words repeating in his head on a loop. That hadn’t been right. But it’d just been Hogwarts, just him talking to other students, irritated because they hadn’t been cooperating with something he’d wanted.

He’d been furious. And he’d never been in the Ravenclaw common room before.

It was easy enough to imagine, though, wasn’t it? From the descriptions he’d heard from Anthony and Luna, if nothing else. Maybe he’d just made it up. The dream had been almost innocuous, except for the rage he’d felt and the absolute unease he was swimming in now. Somehow his mind had decided that a slightly odd dream should be treated like a nightmare.

He’d just been so angry.

Harry pushed his hands through his hair and rubbed at his forehead, trying to shove the headache away through sheer willpower. He sighed and pushed the blankets back, forcing his feet into his slippers and padding to the bathroom in the dark to pour himself a glass of water from the tap.

He collided with something warm and solid on his way back to bed, and nearly spilled his water.

“Oh, sorry,” he whispered, and peered through the darkness as his eyes adjusted. Draco’s pale hair swam out of the gloom, a foot away.

“Harry?” he asked, his voice low in deference to the hour. “Bad dream?”

Harry shrugged before remembering that Draco probably couldn’t see him. “Something like that. You?”

Draco was silent for a beat. “Something like that,” he echoed. They stood looking at each other’s vague shapes in the dark for another uncomfortable moment before Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to navigate around him without crashing into each other again. “Try to get some sleep, we’ve got Defense tomorrow morning,” he said, and Harry cracked a wry smile. 

“Thanks for the reminder,” he said as Draco pushed the door open. “I’ll be too excited to sleep, now.”

Draco scoffed quietly from the bathroom over the sound of running water as he filled his own glass. “I know how keen you are on Umbridge,” he whispered, rejoining Harry as they walked back to their respective beds. “Try not to be such a teacher’s pet.”

“Don’t be such a hypocrite, we’ve all seen how you look at McGonagall,” Harry said. His headache had subsided somewhat, and he climbed back into bed feeling a little better. Draco made gagging noises even as he settled back in his own bed.

“Shut up, Harry, that’s vile,” he said as a parting shot before pulling his curtains closed.

“Night, Draco,” Harry whispered as he pulled his own curtains shut.

Draco’s response was muffled by distance and fabric, but Harry heard it anyway. “Good night.”

* * *

Defense was first thing after breakfast the next morning. Harry had missed breakfast, which meant he spent the last few minutes before class started explaining himself to Pansy. At the next table, Draco looked even worse than he felt, staring blankly down at his unopened textbook with a weary cast to his features.

“I was a Ravenclaw or something, it was… strange,” he told her. “I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but I… I hated--” He trailed off, uncertain. “Not the boy I was talking to. Just. Everything, I guess. The situation. I thought it was beneath me.”

“Wow, Harry,” Pansy said, looking at him askance. “I know we’re supposed to be proud Slytherins and all, but I had no idea you’d taken it to heart like that. Ravenclaw’s not _that_ bad.”

“No, no it wasn’t like that,” Harry hurried to explain, embarrassed. “I _like_ Ravenclaws, Pansy! It wasn’t… it was like I wasn’t me. Nothing upsetting happened, but it… felt like a nightmare.”

“So you had a strange dream and slept in,” Pansy summarized as the bell rang.

“I had an awful headache, too,” Harry whispered defensively. “It wasn’t like--”

Umbridge spoke from her desk at the front of the room, saccharine sweet and hateful as usual. “Mr Potter, would you like to share what was so important you couldn’t wait until after my class to say it?”

“No, ma’am,” Harry said, opening his book and trying not to glare too fiercely at it. Class hadn’t even been in session for a minute and already she was harassing him. 

“Detention tonight, Mr Potter,” she simpered. Harry forced himself to keep his eyes down so that she couldn’t see his satisfaction.

“I already have detention tonight, ma’am.”

“Tomorrow, then,” she responded, folding her hands on her desk. Harry fiddled with his quill and refused to look at her face.

“It’s for the entire week,” he explained, Occluding furiously and forcing his features to remain impassive.

“I see,” she said, her tone darkening. “Next week, then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, biting his tongue.

* * *

“That’ll be another three days of detention, Mr Potter,” Snape called out from the desk at the front of the Potions classroom.

Harry looked up at him. “What did I do, _sir?_ ”

Snape’s icy glare had the rest of the class shifting their chairs away from Harry. 

“Make that another week,” he said, and went back to grading his papers. 

* * *

“Mr Potter, would you please explain why Slinkhard’s approach to traditional defensive maneuvers is revolutionary?” 

“Because he chooses to ignore them, ma’am.” 

Umbridge bristled. “Detention this Saturday, Mr Potter.” 

“I already have detention this Saturday, ma’am.” 

“Sunday.” 

“I already have detention on Sunday as well.” 

Umbridge stood up and splayed her hands across her desk as she glared at him. “Next week.” 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. The first week of March is open.”

* * *

Snape rounded the desk during Harry’s next Potion’s class and caught Harry’s wrist as he reached for a vial. “ _Mister_ Potter, are you _trying_ to murder your classmates?”

“No, sir,” Harry said innocently. His fellow classmates had grown used to Harry and Snape’s daily spats, and carried on brewing with only cursory glances thrown in their direction.

“Did I or did I not explain, _in great detail_ , that a single drop of aconite out of place in this mixture would result in enough toxic fumes to kill an erumpet?”

“Yes, sir, I remember that,” Harry replied. Snape’s eyes glinted.

“And yet you were quite ready to add it three steps out of place,” he said, glaring at Harry. “I must say, your conduct of late has been a disappointment, Mr Potter.  We will be adding three weeks to your detentions.”

Harry nodded along. “Yes, sir.” 

* * *

"The High Inquisitor will henceforth have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts. All punishments, sanctions and removal of privileges as may have been placed by other staff members are void pending approval by the High Inquisitor.”

“Well.…we’ve all been waiting for this one,” Dudley remarked as they stood in front of the message board in the Entrance Hall. Harry had explained the detention situation to Hermione and the other Gryffindors after the first time Snape gave him detention for ‘breathing too loudly’. They all thought he was insane.

“And just in time, too,” Ron said, taking a preemptive step behind Dudley. “I think Hermione’s developing an ulcer.”

“It was worth it,” Harry said, grinning at the memory of Umbridge’s helpless outrage. “Hermione, if it makes you feel better, I’m ahead in my O.W.L. revision now. Snape usually just had me doing homework when it wasn’t lessons.”

“That’s good to know, thank you for your concern, Harry,” Hermione said dryly, frowning at the wording of the Decree.  “You realize that now you’ve run out of excuses for meeting with him, right?”

“Snape wouldn’t have pushed it this far if he didn’t have a plan,” Harry said, shrugging. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“You Slytherins talk about him like he’s Merlin,” Ron commented, shaking his head. “He’s kind of a git, Harry.”

“He looks out for us,” Harry explained. “Like with all this, stopping her from giving me detention whenever she wants.”

 “He can’t anymore, though,” Hermione pointed out. “Harry, she’s got control over all of it now.”

“Snape knows what he’s doing,” Harry repeated firmly. “I trust him.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I have a job, a place to sleep, and steady work hours! And I’ve got a borrowed computer, so we’re officially back in business. Exciting, I know. I have chapters. So many chapters. I will be posting a lot in the next few weeks. :)


	16. The Abrogation

"That'll be a detention, Mr Thomas," McGonagall said in class two days after the passing of the latest decree. Thomas, a Gryffindor, frowned and made a face.

"I'm sorry professor, what did I do?" he asked.

"The knot of your tie is non-regulation," McGonagall said with a dignified tilt to her chin. "In fact, Finnegan, Longbottom, Potter, and Greengrass, I'm afraid all of you are wearing non-regulation double Windsors. That'll be detention for each of you."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said dutifully, and the others echoed him mutinously. It was clear they hadn't caught on to what the professors were doing just yet.

McGonagall gave them all a nod, the faintest hint of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

Later, in Herbology, Professor Sprout handed out detention to eight different people for incorrectly measuring the fertilizer for their Tentacula.

"It's moderately important, you know," she scolded them all. "I have noticed that many of you haven't been measuring at all. Handfuls will simply not do, Fawcett. You must measure."

The widespread student outrage over all these detentions reached a peak at dinner that night, the usual murmur of conversation ascending to a dull roar. "It's utter rubbish!" Harry heard one of the older Slytherins down the table telling his friend. "I have N.E.W.T.s to study for! I can't waste my time with detention for running in the courtyard! I've been running in the bloody courtyard for seven years, and no one's ever stopped me before! What's Flitwick's problem?"

"He didn't give you a slip," the friend pointed out. "You don't have to go without a slip."

"No, he just filled out one of those forms, like Filch always does." The two boys looked at each other, frowning.

"Guess the professors hate Umbridge as much as we do," Pansy said, taking a bite of her chicken.

"Sinstra gave me a detention for being out in the halls after curfew after Astronomy last night," Blaise said, frowning. "Her class doesn't even start until after curfew. She was laughing the whole bloody time she filled out the form."

"That sounds about right," Harry said, shrugging. "Since I don't have detentions with Snape every night anymore, thanks to Umbridge, I'm going to head over to the library after dinner. Does anyone want to come?"

The three of them turned him down. Once he'd finished his food, he said his goodbyes and walked up to the library alone, planning to catch a friend in residence. Hermione and Anthony had both left the Great Hall before Harry, and he hoped at least one of them had the library in mind as their goal.

On the way, he was waylaid by Padma, who called his name as he rounded a corner. He turned around and gave her a small smile as she caught up. She didn't return it, her expression serious and irritated.

"What's wrong?" he asked, once they were walking together toward the library. She hooked her hand around his elbow and he took a second to be thrilled before schooling his face into concern.

"I can't go to Hogsmeade this weekend like we'd planned," she said apologetically. "I know we put it off because you had detention, but now  _I've_  got detention."

"What for?" Harry asked, glancing at her. She adjusted her bag and looked back at him, her brow wrinkled with bafflement.

"Improper attire," she explained. "Madam Hooch disapproves of non-regulation scarves, apparently. Parvati got one, too." Her dark eyes narrowed, and her grip on Harry's elbow tightened. "This is almost as absurd as the detentions Snape was giving you for a while there, Harry," she pointed out. "What's going on?"

"Nonviolent resistance?" Harry offered, lifting his eyebrows and shrugging. "You won't have to go unless you actually get the detention slip before Saturday. And, it's just a hunch, but I don't think Hooch will mind us going to Hogsmeade instead, even if you do."

They'd reached the hallway that led to the library and met Ron, storming half-heartedly toward them.

"I'm not spending all my free time in a bloody library if the rest of it's about to be spent in detention," he explained as they stared at him.

"What did you get it for?" Harry asked, as Padma stood quietly next to him, watching the interaction with fascination.

"I was late to class," Ron grumbled. "And you know what McGonagall said? She told me I 'actually have to serve this one', whatever that's supposed to mean. I don't skive off. That's Fred and George."

"Bad luck, mate," Harry said, shrugging.

"Nonviolent resistance," Padma repeated, comprehension dawning on her face even as Harry and Ron said their goodbyes and Ron continued past them toward the staircase, still bristling with offense. "This is about the newest decree, isn't it?"

"Er," Harry said, pausing outside the door to the library. "Yes. Basically."

"Right, I'm not going," Padma decided, an unexpectedly devious smile lighting her features. "Eight o'clock on Saturday, Harry, just like we planned." She squeezed his elbow and let go. "I have to run, but I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, grinning back at her. "See you, Padma."

"Bye, Harry."

Harry stepped into the library, still smiling, and made his usual circuit to check Anthony and Luna's usual spot. Some Hufflepuffs were sitting there, and Harry's steps and good mood faltered. That had been Anthony's table since first year. No one else sat there when he was likely to show up, especially now that they were fifth years.

Then again, it had become harder and harder to find Anthony these days by just going to the library. Harry resorted to the Map more often than not, if he really wanted to talk to him. He wanted to say it was bizarre, how Anthony was almost always surrounded by people these days, but wasn't that supposed to be a good thing? Harry's other friends were always trying to make him socialize more. Maybe Blaise was right and Anthony was just growing up.

Harry tried to convince himself that he wasn't completely offended by the idea, and detoured through the stacks to avoid passing the Hufflepuffs. He arrived at Hermione's usual table with frown lines firmly etched on his forehead.

Hermione, at least, was reassuringly normal, surrounded by her books and parchment, with Dudley and, in another surprise, Luna for company.

Luna noticed him first and shifted her books so that he could sit next to her. They shared a smile of greeting and disquiet. If Luna was over here, she was obviously aware of the Hufflepuff intrusion at their other table.

"No one's said anything, we would've  _noticed_ ," Dudley was telling Hermione, brandishing a well worn bit of parchment at her. "We  _all_  signed it, even the Slytherins, and they don't even go."

Harry caught a brief glimpse of the parchment and caught on immediately. "Even Draco and Blaise signed, and they didn't even come to the first meeting," Harry agreed, glancing at Dudley in greeting when he seemed surprised by Harry's presence. "Everyone who's aware of your group is on that list. What's wrong?"

"Umbridge has an informant," Hermione insisted, rubbing her temples wearily. "There's no other explanation. She managed to figure out our last three rendezvous points practically before we even arrived. We haven't had a successful meeting since January."

"If anyone had said anything to anyone else, we'd know," Dudley insisted. "It'd be written all over their faces, Hermione, remember? That's what you said."

"So how is she doing it?" Hermione asked, slumping back in her chair. She looked exhausted, and Harry felt a wave of pity for her. She had way too much on her plate this year.

"Maybe she's found a way to use nargles as a spy network?" Luna suggested, to Hermione's bewilderment. "There's more mistletoe up this year than last, have you noticed?"

"I hadn't," Hermione said slowly, and Harry interrupted quickly before she could ask what a nargle was and completely derail the conversation. Hermione couldn't handle Luna on her best days, and today didn't even approach 'good'.

"Right, or maybe she's got some of the other students spying? Someone or something," Harry allowed, nodding at Luna, "Could be listening in on conversations, Luna's got a point."

"We've been trying to keep things as quiet as possible," Hermione responded, her mouth twisting with frustration. "Should I just tell everyone to never talk about it out loud?"

"It's worth a try, isn't it?"

Hermione chewed on her lip as she thought about it. "I suppose that  _is_  why we have the galleons."

Dudley looked up from the parchment, eyes wide. "Has anyone's galleon gone missing?"

"We can check, but I doubt it," Hermione said, frowning and scribbling something down on a scrap of parchment. "Everyone's been showing up, and if they'd given their galleon to someone outside the group, the spell on the parchment would've kicked in. Harry, you can't imagine what last time was like." She shook her head, eyes squeezing briefly shut. Dudley cut in to explain.

"We got there early, and Neville spotted Umbridge waiting for us inside the classroom," he explained in a whisper, as though he was back in the corridor, still hiding from the High Inquisitor. "The four of us ended up having to guard both ends of the hallway and send people away before she could spot them."

"She knew, then," Harry said, his eyes widening. "She knew exactly where you'd be, and probably exactly what you were doing."

"Too right, she did," Dudley said gruffly. "And we can't figure out  _how_."

* * *

Harry jogged back to Slytherin not an hour later, on a mission. They'd talked it through backward and forward, but since no one had triggered the spell Hermione had placed on the parchment, it was obvious that Umbridge had other means.

The plan they formulated was simple. Harry had offered the use of his Map, and the three of them would watch it while Hermione updated her galleon to set the next meeting time and place. They'd track everyone in the group and check to see if anyone else was nearby when they received her message. If Umbridge knew about the next meeting, they would have narrowed their list of suspects considerably. The logistics of keeping watch over that many people on the Map at once were a little complicated, but they'd all agreed that it certainly couldn't hurt to try.

Harry spoke the password to the familiar stretch of wall and hurried inside once it opened. He glanced around the room, but Pansy, Blaise and Draco were conspicuously absent. They were usually here at this time of night. Maybe they had detention, Harry thought, smiling at the thought of any of his three friends actually showing up to one of the farce punishments professors had been handing out recently.

The corridor to the boys' dormitories was quiet aside from the faint murmurs he could hear from inside each room. When he reached the fifth year dorm, a sharp, female voice made him pause.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us! Draco, it's been weeks!"

A split second was all it took to recognize Pansy's voice, put two and two together, and realize this was a conversation he should probably be part of. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking stock. Blaise, Pansy, and Draco were all crowded together on Draco's bed. Pansy had turned to look at the door and appeared entirely unsurprised to see him. Blaise's attention was torn between Harry's arrival and Draco, who didn't react. He sat slumped against his headboard, his face downcast.

"What's happened?" Harry asked, closing the door carefully behind him and looking between the three of them. Blaise and Pansy shifted over on the bed, a clear invitation for Harry to join them.

Harry settled into the open space, his curiosity blending into concern as Draco shifted to give him more room, but still didn't speak or otherwise acknowledge him. "What's wrong? Draco?"

"We aren't going to say it for you, Draco," Blaise said, his tone milder than Pansy's had been, but no less firm.

Draco exhaled heavily and pushed both hands through his hair before looking up. His eyes were dry, though from the expression on his face that indicated little. Harry met his gaze with building apprehension.

"I didn't want to say it," he said finally. "I don't want to say it again."

"Then you should have waited for Harry to be here before you told us," Pansy said promptly. Draco scowled, which was a welcome change from the hopelessness that had been etched all over his features before.

"You wouldn't bloody let me wait for him. I said, 'Let's wait for Harry,' and you said, 'Yes, okay, but tell us now anyway'. You're a bint, Pansy."

Pansy dismissed the insult with a flick of her hand. "Don't think we're going to get into an argument and you'll be able to get out of saying it." Her voice softened. "If this is really how things are going to be now, Draco, it's going to be a lot harder if you haven't come to terms before everyone finds out."

Draco nodded, his eyes dropping again, and Harry cleared his throat when he seemed ready to fall back into a contemplation of the pattern of the bedspread. "I still don't know what happened," he pointed out.

"I was disowned," Draco muttered, not looking up. Harry's stomach dropped.

"You were—what?" he asked, clearing his throat again, this time out of necessity. He willed Draco to look up.

"Disowned," Draco repeated, his voice firming. "As in, I'm no longer a Malfoy. As in, my parents don't want me anymore. As in-"

"I know what it means!" Harry said, his voice breaking. He pushed himself back until he nearly staggered off the bed. Pansy and Blaise stared at him, but Harry's eyes were fixed on Draco, wide with horror. "You—but—this is… Draco!"

"Harry, he's not completely ruined," Blaise said, unfolding his legs and standing up to follow Harry as he backed away. "He's got an inheritance from his grandfather, and his parents can't take back the vault that's in his name. He has options."

"Who bloody cares about the bloody vaults!" Harry exclaimed, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. He pulled his eyes away from Draco, who'd looked up and was watching him with an unreadable expression. "He—" He turned sharply, looking at Pansy now. "You said it'd been weeks! When did it happen?"

"I found out at the end of January, when my mother visited," Draco admitted.

"Your mother—did you know she visited?" Harry asked, still looking at Blaise and Pansy. They both shook their heads mutely. "Draco, why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't exactly want to spread it around," Draco pointed out, hunching his shoulders and glaring at nothing. "If my parents want a discreet disowning, I'm perfectly willing to play along."

"A discreet-" Harry stopped and just paced for a long, silent minute, feeling something that was either panic or bile rising up the back of his throat.

"Harry?" Pansy asked cautiously. Harry shook his head. The room felt close; he took up too much space in it; he couldn't breathe.

"This is awful," he said, folding his arms over his chest and then letting them drop when that made getting enough air even harder. The feeling didn't go away. "This is horrible, Draco, I'm so sorry, this is—my fault, this is-"

"Think awfully highly of yourself, don't you?" Draco commented, his voice deliberately light. Harry didn't even have to look at him to picture the expression on his face.

"Did you have a fling with a muggle over the holiday?" Harry challenged, turning around and meeting the disdain anyway. Draco's anger made it easier to ignore his own panic. "Or maybe you've decided to transfer to Gryffindor? Or are you a squib and just never thought to mention it? Draco, I  _know_  what you're likely to be disowned for, and I know where I stand in all of it."

"I was disowned because of the choices I made," Draco snapped, standing up and sidestepping Blaise, who backed quickly out of the line of fire and rejoined Pansy on the bed. "You don't get to make my family's issues about you, Harry."

"If we weren't friends-"

"If I hadn't pushed so hard this winter," Draco corrected, poking Harry in the chest and making him fall back a step. "We were friends for years, you prat, and we hardly have been lately. This wasn't about us being friends. It was about me. Not you, you—you arrogant  _arse_!"

"This is about your family's loyalties—"

"Harry—" Blaise cut in, but Draco was already sneering, cold with fury.

"They're not my family anymore, are they?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "Maybe now you'll shut up about it."

Harry swallowed again and fell into a guilty silence. Draco watched him with narrowed eyes. Pansy started to speak, but Draco was already talking.

"You are  _not_  allowed to be more upset than I am about this," he demanded, his every word curt and unyielding. Harry nodded, looking away. "This is about  _me_ , not you, understand? You're allowed to be sympathetic." He paused, pursing his lips, and his next words were less offensive and more thoughtful. "You're welcome to beg my forgiveness for how you've treated me-"

"Shove off," Harry said, his mouth curving up slightly. "I'm not retracting anything."

"Of course you aren't," Draco said darkly. "You've only gone and gotten me  _disowned_."

Harry's heart fell to his shoes, and all his horror returned instantly. "But you just said—! Draco, I'm—"

"That's going to come in handy," Draco commented, glancing at Pansy and Blaise, who were frowning at the pair of them. "Oh come off it," he exclaimed, gesturing at Harry, who glared. "You can't fault me."

"Draco, I swear," Pansy warned, and Draco huffed.

"Fine. I was only joking."

Harry folded his arms and tried to pretend his heart wasn't still thumping uncomfortably hard behind his ribs. "You're a prick," he said.

"Don't care," Draco said, tilting his chin and looking superciliously down his nose at Harry, who held his gaze and frowned.

"I am sorry," he said in a low voice. Draco blinked at him. His bravado and anger slowly seeped away, replaced instead by something small and sad.

"Yes, I know," he said, turning back to the bed with Harry following right behind him. "Thank you."

* * *

Later, after they'd all gone to bed, Harry woke from another strange nightmare, this time of pacing in one of the hallways near to Gryffindor Tower, trying to remember how to get into the storage room. He got up to get a glass of water and bumped into Draco again.

"Harry, er, hello. I was just—"

"Getting a glass of water?" Harry asked, lifting an eyebrow. It was dark, but this time Harry had put his glasses on and could tell that Draco wasn't carrying anything with him at all.

"Something like that," Draco muttered sheepishly. Something about his tone and how quietly exhausted he'd looked since the return from break connected, and Harry frowned.

Draco trailed him to the bathroom and shut the door behind him, flicking his wand to ignite one of the torches furthest from the door to give them a bit of light. "Do you just not sleep at all anymore?" Harry asked.

"I sleep." Draco rubbed at his temple, squinting in the low light. "Just not very much."

Harry turned off the tap and leaned against the counter, sipping his water slowly and looking more closely at Draco than he had in a while. Draco leaned against the door with his arms crossed loosely against the cold, his forehead lined with stress and the corners of his mouth tipped permanently downward. They didn't speak until Harry finished his water. Then:

"She wanted me to leave the country," Draco said, his hushed voice loud in the silence of the dungeons. "Father mentioned Durmstrang again on Boxing Day and I said no, but she told me she didn't care where I went. Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Christchurch. Bloody Salem." He laughed, one low gust of air, and looked away toward the showers. "Just not Hogwarts. I said no."

"This was when she visited?" Harry asked, his glass forgotten in his hand. Draco nodded.

"I got the letter less than a week later."

"Merlin," Harry murmured. Draco sighed and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. Sympathy and guilt saturated Harry's chest, weighing his words down with inadequacy and tugging at him even after Draco looked back up and abruptly changed the subject.

"What're you doing awake?" It was cold in the bathroom, and Harry set his glass down on the counter and pulled himself up to sit as the chill started to seep through his slippers.

"Nightmare," Harry explained, frowning. "Or, I dunno. A dream, I guess. I think it's the headaches that make me think they're nightmares."

"Headaches?" Draco repeated, moving closer. He snagged Harry's empty cup and filled it at the tap next to where Harry had perched, and took a sip. "That sounds alarming."

"No, I don't-" Harry sighed and pulled one of his knees up, balancing himself with a heel on the counter. "The dreams are harmless. Sometimes I'm talking to another student, or wandering the corridors. Once I was just… doing homework, I guess. It was even the homework we'd been assigned the day before in class. But then I wake up with these awful headaches and... just a really bad feeling, I suppose. I don't know what to make of it."

"You talked to Snape about your headaches last year, didn't you?" Draco finished the water and pulled himself up to sit next to Harry on the counter.

"Yes, but I don't think this is the same thing," Harry explained, shifting to make space. "That was about Occlumency and someone trying to break into my mind. I've been Occluding."

"You should tell him anyway."

"I don't know when I'm going to get to see him these days, now that Umbridge is controlling detentions," Harry argued, lifting his scarred hand as evidence. He was waiting for the first detention slip, now that she'd gotten her way. He suspected that the only reason he hadn't already been summoned was because of the sheer volume of paperwork Umbridge was now having to sort through. Draco grimaced at the sight of the words carved into Harry's hand. "I'm not wasting time telling him about stupid nightmares that don't even have anything to do with what we're working on."

Harry looked up to see that Draco was watching him. "If they're so harmless and stupid, why do you keep calling them nightmares?"

Harry looked away, understanding better the set of Draco's shoulders when he'd suddenly asked after Harry. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. "They're just… unsettling, that's all," he muttered. "Look, we should get back to bed."

"You should talk to Snape, that's all I'm saying," Draco said, pushing himself off the counter. Harry followed, yawning.

"If I get a chance, I will," he allowed. Draco flicked his wand at the torch, extinguishing it before he pulled open the door. Harry followed blindly, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dark. He found his bed by memory rather than by sight, and fumbled the curtains open as quietly as he could manage.

"Good night, Harry."

"Night, Draco."

* * *

"Draco, can I borrow your shoes?" Harry asked in a quiet voice, tiptoeing toward the bed next to his own. Draco was fully dressed and ostensibly reading, sitting propped up on his pillows against the headboard with a book open in his lap, though any idiot could see he was really just napping in the calm atmosphere of Saturday morning. Harry didn't blame him, but he still needed those shoes.

He dropped down to look under Draco's bed, reasoning that asking out loud was almost the same as having been given permission, especially since he'd probably be back before Draco woke up, anyway.

Harry heard the blankets shifting. Something heavy fell on his head and he yelped, sitting back on his heels and rubbing his ear.

"I'm  _awake_ , Harry," Draco told him, sitting up and retrieving his book. "Why were you trying to steal my shoes?"

"Because Pansy told me Padma would break up with me if I ever wore mine in front of her," he explained, his ear still throbbing with pain. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Pansy is a drama queen," he explained, ignoring the incredulous lift of Harry's eyebrow. "Shut up, Harry, you are too. It comes with being in Slytherin."

Harry grinned at him, wide and pleased. Somehow, Draco shouting at him after Harry had tried to take responsibility for his disowning had made things better. A lot of the painful uncertainty and awkwardness had vanished, not to say that Harry didn't still feel guilty. In his head. Privately. Out loud, he said,

"Ambition, cunning, and melodrama, is that how the school song went this year?"

"My point," Draco said, pointing at Harry to emphasize that he should stop talking, though there was a hint of a smile as well. "No, my point, Harry, is that she's definitely already seen your hideous shoes. You have classes together, don't you? And yet here you are, going to Hogsmeade with her."

"So she likes me despite my shoes," Harry concluded, nodding. Draco yawned and shook his head.

"Not at all. She's clearly in it for the notoriety," he said, leaning back against his pillows and closing his eyes. "They're in my trunk, don't scuff them or I'll have the first years burn you in effigy in the common room."

"Thanks," Harry said, pulling himself to his feet and prodding open Draco's trunk cautiously with his wand. "You're a true Slytherin, Draco."

"Are you saying I overshot a realistic threat?" Draco asked, his eyes still closed. Harry retrieved the shoes safely and tugged them on as he spoke. "Just having them trip you up in the halls seemed boring, and fire was the first thing to come to mind."

"Naturally," Harry said dryly. "I'll bring these back in a few hours. Thanks."

"Bring me back chocolate too," Draco muttered in response, the book open on his lap again. "The good kind that you get at the back of the shop, none of that rubbish they make chocolate frogs out of."

"Chocolate frogs, got it," Harry said. He waited a moment for a response, and realized Draco had fallen asleep again when none was forthcoming. Worry ate at him as he left the dormitory, trying to think about Hogsmeade with Padma rather than the fact that Draco had looked miserable even while he carried on the most normal, cheerful conversation they'd had in longer than Harry cared to think about.


	17. The Occluding

Hogsmeade in early March was beautiful. The snow blanketed rooftops and trees, the warmth and smells of food and drink beckoned from every pub, and the close press of shops and the bustle of the crowds kept away the harshest of the cold. They couldn't have picked a more perfect day to go, though Harry was having difficulty appreciating the atmosphere.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Padma asked, adjusting her scarf with her free hand.

"I'm okay," Harry said, looking at her with what was meant to be a reassuring smile. She pressed her lips together, obviously unconvinced.

"It's only, well," she said, slowing down and glancing into a shop window as they walked. "Usually you only look like you've got a Grim following you around, but today I think you've upgraded to dementor." She hesitated, risking a glance at him. "Maybe downgraded would be more accurate."

"What?" Harry rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I'm that bad?"

"Not 'bad', exactly," Padma said, gesturing at him as she spoke. "Just… unhappy. I don't blame you, Harry. I read the papers; I've heard the gossip. It's all rather awful. I'm just saying you seem… more unhappy than usual, if that's possible."

"Oh." Harry watched the snow-cleared cobblestone in front of them as they walked, thinking about her words. He hadn't thought he'd been any more miserable than usual lately, but maybe that was her point. He frowned. "I don't want to look unhappy."

"Well don't force it," Padma told him, leading him toward a particular shop now. "Just try to avoid the bad things and appreciate the good. Like this."

"Like what?" Harry asked, following her inside. It was a teashop, filled with tiny, two person tables and squishy chairs.

"Madame Puddifoots," Padma said, pulling him closer so she could speak in his ear even as she led him deftly through the tables. "I don't know if you've been here before? And since we missed Valentine's Day, all the awful decorations are gone."

"I haven't been here," Harry said, flushing. Just by glancing around at the other couples in residence, he thought he had a pretty good idea of what Madame Puddifoot's was like. "I think-"

"Harry!"

Harry and Padma turned as one toward the source of the voice. Dudley was at one of the tables they'd just passed, with a Hufflepuff girl.

"Morning, Dudley," Harry said, glancing at Dudley's date curiously. Dudley grinned at him.

"This is Hannah. Hannah, this is my cousin, Harry, and his girlfriend, Padma."

Harry flushed still further as Padma didn't comment on Dudley's wording and instead smiled at Hannah. "We've met, of course," she said, glancing at Harry.

"Er, yes, of course," Harry said, though he had no idea. He was sure her face was familiar, though. "Hello Hannah, how are you?"

"I'm wonderful," she said, beaming up at them. "Isn't it beautiful out?"

"It is," Padma said, to Harry's relief. "A bit chill to stay out in for too long, though."

"Oh, Harry!" Dudley exclaimed suddenly. "I meant to tell you, I got an owl from mum!"

Harry, who had been smiling vaguely, flinched. "What?" he asked, startled. Padma's hand tightened on his elbow. "An owl, really?"

"She used Whitey to reply to one of my letters," Dudley explained, nearly glowing with happiness. "A real response and everything, and she said she'd read a couple of the others I sent her, too! Isn't that brilliant?"

"Wow, yeah," Harry said, and realized after he finished speaking that he should probably smile, instead of just looking shocked. He blinked and managed it, which only made Dudley's grin widen. "That's fantastic, Dudley. I hope it goes well."

"Me too," Dudley agreed, nodding along. "You get back to your date, I'll tell you more later."

"Right, thanks," Harry said, nodding back dumbly. "We'll talk later."

Padma led the goodbyes and tugged at Harry to guide him onward to another table. "Your aunt?" she asked.

"She doesn't like magic at all," he explained, shaking his head. "Exchanging owls is… huge. Wow." He smiled more genuinely as it finally started to sink in. Sending an owl wasn't an empty gesture, not when she could have easily continued avoiding all things magic. "That's brilliant, actually."

"There's another good thing, then," Padma told him as they sat down. "And you're actually smiling, how odd." She smiled back, and Harry made a face at her. Madame Puddifoot bustled over and took their orders, and Harry waited for her to leave before he continued the conversation.

"I smile all the time." He paused. "Sometimes, at least."

"You do not," she responded instantly, laughing at him. "You look like this all the time." She demonstrated, her mouth forming into a thin, tense line, her brow furrowed. "You always look like you're waiting for something horrible to happen."

"Something horrible usually does happen," he reminded her. "It's not just me."

Padma nodded agreeably. "But nothing horrible is happening right now, so stop looking like I've killed your owl."

"I'm not-" He blinked and realized his face had fallen into a frown without his realizing it. "Did I look like that just now?"

"Yes," Padma told him. "Which is stupid, because I've brought you here to snog you, and you should be more cheerful about things like that, Harry."

"You-" Harry nearly choked on his tea. Padma hid a sly smile behind her teacup and waited for him to continue. "I—um. Oh. Yes, okay."

"That's practically a pile of good things today," she told him, setting down her teacup and sliding closer. "You're not allowed to look miserable until after our date is over, understood?"

"Understood," Harry agreed, and this time his smile came easily.

* * *

The detentions started the Monday after Harry and Padma's visit to Hogsmeade.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, her smile wide as she handed him the blood quill. "I do hope you remember your lines?"

"I remember," Harry said, already focusing furiously his Occlumency walls as he sat. The next few hours were a blur of lines and the helpless, furious feeling that came of realizing he was getting used to the sharp slice of pain into the thin skin of the back of his hand. When he was allowed to leave, Harry waited until he was a corridor away from Umbridge's office to cradle his wrist and examine the damage. He'd need more murtlap essence.

"Potter, what are you doing out in the halls at this time of night?" Harry turned, frowning. One of the older Slytherins was coming down the hall to his right, wearing his usual expression of dislike.

"I had detention, Warrington," Harry said, lifting his handkerchief-wrapped hand as proof. "Did you want something?"

Warrington's chest was puffed out, which Harry had thought was odd until he saw an unfamiliar new badge there. "You ought to show some respect," he sneered. "I'm on the Inquisitorial Squad now."

Harry didn't know what that was, but Warrington wasn't even a prefect. This was stupid. "Right, I'll do that," he said. "I'm just going to go back to the dorms now, if that's alright with you."

"No, it's not,  _actually_ ," Warrington said. He stepped into Harry's personal space and loomed over him. "You're out after curfew, Potter. That'll be detention."

"What're you on about?" Harry asked, taking a step back and telling himself it was because of Warrington's usual foul odour. "Even the teachers can't give out detentions these days."

"The Inquisitorial Squad can," Warrington said, smugly. "We work for Umbridge."

Harry's eyebrows went up. He opened his mouth, then judiciously closed it again, jaw tight.

"Thought you might say something like that." Warrington grinned at him. "That'll be three day's detention, for mouthin' off."

Harry scowled, his fists clenching at his side. He remained silent.

"Just keep—" Something cut off both Warrington's words and his smug expression, and caused him to collapse in a slow tumble to the stone floor, where he lay in a motionless heap. Harry backed away quickly, pulling out his wand and staring around the corridor for the cause.

"Sorry about that," Fred said, appearing out of an alcove. George followed.

"Noticed he was giving you a bit of trouble," he added, winking. "We wouldn't leave our favorite investor to fend for himself."

"Where have you two been lately?" Harry asked, lowering his wand and staring at them. "I haven't heard word from you in weeks."

"We've been around," Fred said, stepping up next to Warrington and nudging him with a toe.

"Noses to the grindstone, that sort of thing," George continued, narrowing his eyes at the boy on the floor. "Hate this git."

"He's been a git since first year, hasn't he, George?" Fred asked, a similar expression coming over his face.

"Too right," George agreed. "Harry, you've heard about the newest Decree, I suppose?"

"Does it have anything to do with the Inquisitorial Squad?" Harry asked, joining them in staring down at Warrington. George tapped his nose.

"Got it in one, friend," he said. "At least now she's labeled the ones we have to watch out for, right?"

"Silver linings and all that," Harry allowed, now looking at Fred and George. "So…"

"So?" Fred asked, as George levitated Warrington into the air. Harry's eyes widened.

"So what are you doing with him?"

"The professors have declared war," George explained. "We're choosing sides, Harry."

"Right, like our git, here. And he'll be a casualty, just like Trelawney."

Harry trailed after them as they levitated Warrington down several corridors and into an empty classroom. He watched as they stuffed him into a cabinet.

"Won't be seeing him for a while," George said, dusting his hands off with satisfaction. The cabinet door fell open an inch, and it was definitely empty.

"Can… should you have done that?" Harry asked, staring.

"You're not the only one he was harassing tonight," Fred said, his face darkening. George's expression was identical.

"He made some comments about our little sister, not an hour ago."

"We would've killed him, but Azkaban's a bit nippy this time of year."

"Oh," Harry said, nodding and following them out of the classroom, glancing back once or twice. Fred carefully shut the door behind him.

"But we should tell you what we've been up to, recently!" George slung an arm around Harry's shoulders, suddenly full of cheer.

"Noses to the grindstone, like we said," Fred added, nudging him with an elbow. "We've got some brilliant products worked out."

"And we've elaborated on your idea—"

"-about the test subjects! We've passed out a ton of our beta products to anyone who'd sign a magically binding contract—"

"They've agreed to fill out a few questionnaires—"

"—once they've used it all up, you understand." The twins were positively gleeful, their voices blending in their excitement so that Harry couldn't rightly tell who had said what.

"What with events of the past couple weeks, we've made sure to add a stipulation in all the contracts—"

"The products all have to be used here at Hogwarts—"

"And they have to be used against Umbridge—"

"Or at least, in a way that'll really get to her."

"If things go the way we hope they do, it'll be a like a bomb going off," Fred finished, his voice ringing with satisfaction.

"A dozen tiny pranks-bombs, all over school," George elaborated, grinning. Harry nodded along, wide eyed and impressed.

"I'm a little terrified," he admitted. "But I can't help thinking you've spent the money well."

"Thank you, Harry!" Fred said. They'd reached the Entrance Hall now, and the staircase to the dungeons. "If nothing else, this'll be a great marketing campaign."

"I'm definitely seeing that," Harry agreed. "Can you pass along some of your beta stuff to a few of the Slytherins?"

"We'll send you a box and let you dish it out yourself," George decided, after sharing a glance with his twin. "Slytherins aren't really our area. You'd know who to trust better."

"But remember, they have to sign the contracts too," Fred reminded Harry. "This is part advertising, part beta testing, and part war."

"Right," George agreed. "We want our results, we don't want to be sued, and we want Umbridge to get hers."

"You two would have made brilliant Slytherins," Harry said, grinning at the horrified faces they made. "Send the contracts along with the box and they'll be signed."

"Sure thing."

"Later, Harry!"

"Bye," Harry called, and watched them disappear upstairs before turning around and heading down.

Harry knocked on the door to Snape's office ten minutes later, uncertain whether he'd get a response.

"Come in," Snape said, and Harry swallowed his relief as he pushed the door open.

"Murtlap essence," Snape said, gesturing with a quill at a bowl on his desk. Harry took it and sat down, unwrapping his hand and wincing at the damage, even as the now-comforting scent of murtlap relaxed some of his tension.

"Thank you," he said. They sat in silence while Harry sorted out his hand and Snape's quill resumed its scratching on the parchment in front of him. He wondered idly if Snape would consider the twins' enthusiastic assistance against Umbridge more of a hindrance or a help.

"You did well on Sunday," Snape commented blandly, once Harry had settled back in his seat to let the murtlap essence do its work.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Diggory carried that team before he graduated. Did you know Draco'd been disowned?"

Snape didn't pause in his writing. "I did. He has professed a desire to keep the situation as quiet as possible."

"Yeah, we got that," Harry said, his gaze falling to his hand. "I feel—"

"Do not," Snape told him, dipping his quill in the ink pot at his elbow and finishing off a sentence with a flourish. "Draco would not appreciate your misplaced sense of guilt."

Harry scoffed. "I already got that lecture."

"Good."

Harry sighed heavily and began Occluding, finally starting to feel something approaching tired. He remembered Draco's assessment of his nightmares, and decided it wouldn't hurt to mention them. "I've been having strange dreams," he muttered, turning his hand over and resoaking the bandages in the bowl of murtlap essence.

Snape set his quill down.

"Define 'strange dreams'," he said. Harry looked up and was surprised to find all of Snape's attention on him.

"Er, just… strange. It's difficult to describe."

"Start from the beginning," Snape instructed, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. "When you have these dreams, do you Occlude before you sleep?"

"Yeah, I do that every night," Harry said. "It's like brushing my teeth now."

Snape favoured him with an approving nod. "Good. Then describe the dreams."

"Sometimes I'm walking around, sometimes I'm doing homework, sometimes I'm talking to other students," Harry said. "I'm—I'm not  _me_ , but I'm at Hogwarts. I'm a student and everything, I'm just not  _me_." He felt stupid now that he was explaining it. Snape was going to think he was wasting his time. "It just feels wrong, that's all. And I have awful headaches when I wake up. Draco told me I had to tell you."

"He was right," Snape agreed, standing up and walking around the desk. His eyes were narrow as he bent to look more closely at Harry's face. "Are these the same variety of headache you had last year?"

"I guess," Harry said, shrugging. "If you mean 'everything hurts', then yeah."

"Originating in your scar?" Snape asked, examining it as he spoke. Harry allowed the scrutiny as he considered the question.

"I think so," he decided, suddenly worried. "But... I mean, do you think another student is trying to break into my mind? Why would they let me see what they're doing, then?"

Snape shook his head. "I doubt that's the case. The headmaster and I have hypothesised about your scar. It's not a Legilimency detector in the way you're imagining. Additionally, I hesitate to suggest that just any student could break through your walls."

"What is it, then?" Harry asked, noting the compliment to his Occlumency skills and sitting up a little straighter with pride.

"It is a curse scar," Snape explained. "It should be nothing more than a mark, though it clearly isn't. Professor Dumbledore thinks it may connect you to the one who placed it on your forehead."

"You said that once," Harry agreed, his bad feeling about these dreams ratcheting up exponentially.

"Yes. We believe your headaches last year were accidental on his part, but that he is aware of the connection now and may be attempting to turn it to his advantage. These dreams mesh well with that line of reasoning."

Snape steadied Harry's chin with two fingers and a thumb as Harry reared back at the thought. He stilled and swallowed hard, feeling the beginnings of panic.

"You have succeeded in resisting him thus far," Snape reminded him, taking a short step back toward his desk once he'd finished with his examination. "The fact that your scar hurts when you have these dreams is alarming," he admitted, folding his arms and watching Harry closely. "The content of the dreams is mundane, which I imagine is why your unconscious mind allowed them past your walls. It's possible that they've been planted deliberately."

"To show the way in?" Harry asked, alarmed. He'd read about similar tactics in the Legilimency books Snape had assigned him. Concepts and memories planted as Trojan horses, disguised as the target's own thoughts in order that the target might examine them and accidentally guide the attacker through the mire of defenses and into the real center of the mind. It was a complex and difficult tactic, but Voldemort was skilled. Harry knew that the only reason he hadn't managed to breach Harry's defences in the graveyard was because he hadn't set out to, and because Harry'd spent the entire time Occluding frantically.

"Precisely." Snape stood again, moving around the desk and resettling into his chair. "I expect you to increase the amount of time you spend Occluding. You have enough control over your own mind by this point to reject those dreams, asleep or not, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, taking a deep breath. The news that Draco had been right, that these dreams might actually be a danger, rattled him. He wasn't tired anymore.

"Try to sleep," Snape recommended anyway, picking up his quill again. "You have Potions first thing, and you will receive detention if you are late."

Harry scoffed halfheartedly, amused despite his fear, and stood up. "Yes sir."

"And Mr. Potter? I expect both essays on my desk tomorrow."

His Potion's essay and his Legilimency essay, right. "Yes, sir. Good night."

"Good night."

* * *

Now that Harry knew the dreams were a worry, he was successfully repelling them. He hadn't had another in over a month, which was reassuring. Even so, he took any spare moment to Occlude, still paranoid. He sat with Luna at their usual spot in the library, studying furiously even as he methodically kept his mind in a state of Occlusion. Neville had joined them, unable to bear the stress of sitting with Hermione so close to the beginning of O.W.L. testing. The three of them worked in near silence.

Harry had discovered in the past that Occluding while studying was actually extremely effective, but only if he also Occluded while taking the test, for some reason. Distracted as he was, it took a moment to notice when someone else sat down at their table.

"Anthony!" Luna exclaimed, delighted. Harry sat up from where he'd been bent over his book, his eyes lighting up.

"Welcome back!" Harry exclaimed, just as thrilled. He glanced toward the front desk where Madame Pince sat and lowered his voice. "We never see you anymore, Anthony, what have you been doing? What about the O.W.L.s?"

"I've been studying," Anthony said dismissively. He lowered a stack of books to the table in front of his seat and sat down, pulling another seven or so from his bag. "I've just also been networking. I've been given to understand it's rather important after graduation."

"I—guess so," Harry agreed, his forehead furrowing a little. "It's good to see you, at least. I notice you abandoned your schedule. You were so proud of it, what happened?"

"I read a book on—"

"The practical applications of social experience on academic dexterity," Luna interrupted. "We know."

"Luna borrowed it in February," Harry explained. "I was convinced you'd gone mad, and we had to be sure."

Anthony narrowed his eyes at them, but all he said was, "Did you give it back?"

Luna blinked. "Of course."

Anthony nodded and went back to his stack of books. His movements were both less precise and more stiff than usual. "Good. Thank you."

Neville, who had kept quiet so far, gave Harry a baffled glance over their parchments. Harry shrugged and responded in kind. If Neville was asking what was going on, Harry certainly didn't have an answer. He hesitated before speaking up again.

"Anthony, are you going home for the Easter holiday?"

"No," Anthony said, flipping one of his books open and opening his ink bottle. He used another book to hold open a roll of parchment at his elbow and began taking notes.

"Oh good," Luna said, glancing between them. "I'm staying as well, and so is Harry. I've missed reading with you. I've found having someone else to read with makes it a much more enjoyable pastime."

"Which class is _that_  for?" Neville interrupted abruptly, staring at the titles of a few of Anthony's books. Anthony sighed heavily.

"They are extra-curricular, Longbottom," he explained, and Harry and Luna stared at him. Neville blinked and shook his head.

"Plotting a major battle after the O.W.L.s?" he asked, his voice deliberately light.

"Knowledge is power," Anthony explained dismissively. "I didn't come here to talk, I came here to work."

"Right," Neville responded. "Harry, I'm going to see if Hermione's here, want to come?"

Harry met his gaze and realized it wasn't a question. "Er, sure," he said, leaving his books. "I wanted to ask her a question anyway. Luna, Anthony, I'll be back."

He and Neville walked into the stacks, moving far enough away that the Ravenclaws wouldn't be able to hear them anymore.

"He's got nothing but books about psychology, war, and offensive dueling tactics in there," Neville hissed. "Should we be alarmed?"

Harry laughed, suddenly relieved. "Is that what you're worried about?" He shook his head. "Neville, that's just his normal bizarre reading choices. He spent a week in second year trying to convince me to help him break his arm so he could try some weird African alternative to skele-grow he'd read about. I'm more worried about how he's acting. Do you think he's being strange at all?"

"He's just sort of being a prat," Neville shrugged, his shoulders loosening as he relaxed. He leaned against a shelf and crossed his arms. "Isn't he usually kind of distant?"

"Yeah but… not really," Harry said. The books were mustier than usual in this aisle, and Harry realized they'd ended up in the history section. "He's usually just a little odd, that's all. He's been spending a lot of time with his other friends recently. We, uh…" He cleared his throat embarrassed. "Luna and I hadn't realized he had other friends."

"Oh," Neville said, and a weird sort of pity appeared in his eyes. Harry flushed. "Do you think—?"

"That he just doesn't like us that much anymore?" Harry said it quickly, like ripping off a bandage. It still hurt. "I don't know. He seemed friendly enough before we all went home for Christmas. I know Luna and I aren't exactly the most popular people, but he's never been bothered by it before."

Neville clapped a hand on his shoulder and glanced toward the end of the aisle again. "Here's hoping he's just being weirder than usual, then," he said. "If not, our table seats six."

"Thanks," Harry said, surprised and pleased at the invitation. Harry habitually spent a lot of time at the Gryffindor's library table, but having his presence welcomed outright was appreciated.

They parted ways, Neville turning around to cut through Hexes on his way to see if Hermione was in, and Harry ducking back through the Invisibility section to sit with Anthony and Luna again.

"Anthony, are you okay?" Luna asked even as Harry sat down. Anthony looked up from his book, frowning at her.

"Of course I am," he said, hesitating and finally offering her a faint smile. She blinked back at him, her eyes slightly wider than usual, and didn't smile back.

"Right," she said, looking down at his parchment. "It's only that you've ruined your notes, a bit."

Harry and Anthony both looked immediately down at Anthony's parchment, where he'd scrawled the words ' _He doesn't know everything_ ,' in block letters across the middle.

"It's an important note," Anthony said eventually, his gaze fixed on the words. "Very important, actually."


	18. The Internship

Harry's detentions with Umbridge were becoming an issue. She appeared to have adjusted to the constant influx of forms and paperwork that needed approving by creating a schedule for her particular trouble students. Harry was at the top of the list, which meant that in the time leading up to Easter break, he spent at least three or four nights a week in her office, not leaving until after midnight no matter what time the detention started. It was cutting into his study time, and ever more deeply into his hand.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," Umbridge said. She was seated at her desk, watching a fluffy pink quill sign a three inch thick stack of what looked like detention slips, one after another. She looked satisfied, in control. Harry hated her.

"Shall we begin?" she asked, unperturbed by his silence. "You know what to do."

Harry sat down, his jaw set, and picked up the hateful quill. A knock at the door nearly had him dropping it, and his head turned almost against his will to see who it was.

"Come in," Umbridge called sweetly, folding her hands in front of her as her quill continued to fly over parchment. The door opened, and Filch poked his head inside.

"Professor Dumbledore sends for Mr. Potter, ma'am," he said, glancing at Harry. Harry smiled at him perhaps more broadly than necessary, but right now Filch looked like nothing more than a savior in wool and grubby linen.

"He is in detention," Umbridge informed Filch, still smiling pleasantly. Harry and Filch had talked about Umbridge's role at the school, and Harry knew Filch had high hopes for her and the possibility of convincing her to reintroduce certain of the nastier punishments. Harry personally thought the blood quill was quite bad enough, and had said so. Filch's response had been a fond clap on the shoulder and a long, unsettling lecture on why Harry's generation in particular would benefit from the 'kiss of the whip'. It was for the best, really, that Filch had no actual power at Hogwarts. Harry hoped it stayed that way.

"Yes'm," Filch said, bowing his head briefly in Umbridge's direction. "Only, Professor Dumbledore instructed that he be escorted to the Headmaster's office immediately, ma'am."

Umbridge scowled at Harry as though he'd personally orchestrated this escape. Harry hid his glee under a blank, mildly curious expression, and eventually she turned her narrow eyed gaze from him to Filch.

"Very well. I shall escort him."

"Very good, ma'am," Filch said, his obsequious tone making Harry want to roll his eyes. He really wanted the chains back too, if Harry remembered correctly from part two of the lecture. That had come two days after part one, unprompted except perhaps by the sheer volume of liquefied flobberworm they'd cleaned out of the boys toilets on the first floor that afternoon.

Harry dropped the quill on the desk and stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder and waiting for Umbridge. She ended the spell on her quill and led the way out of the office with a distinctly irritable aura. Filch nodded at Harry as he passed, and Harry grinned at him behind Umbridge's back. Filch might approve of crueler methods in the style of their High Inquisitor, but they were still friends, of a sort. Harry was about eighty percent sure that, even given the opportunity, Filch wouldn't string him up in chains or whip him.

The walk to Dumbledore's office was steeped in tense silence. Umbridge seemed to be building a head of anger, and Harry was loathe to attract any more attention to himself than absolutely necessary.

"Fizzing Whizbees," Umbridge snapped at the gargoyles, and she and Harry stepped onto the moving staircase. Harry finally began thinking about what Dumbledore might want from him when they reached the oak door of his office. He'd been so relieved about escaping the blood quill that it hadn't occurred to him that there must be a reason he'd been called to the Headmaster's office. The door opened once Umbridge rapped her knuckles on it, and the two of them stepped inside.

"I see you've delivered Mr. Potter to me," Dumbledore said, smiling at them from behind his enormous desk. He gestured at two chairs. Harry had learned this lesson already, and waited for Umbridge to sit first. She didn't, so he stayed standing as well. "Thank you for being so prompt, Dolores."

"Professor Dumbledore," Umbridge said, her voice more cloying than Harry had ever heard it. He supposed that was what she sounded like when she was furious with someone she couldn't control. "What is the meaning of this, if I might ask? Mr. Potter is in the middle of a detention; surely this summons could have waited until after?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said, steepling his hands on his desk and fixing Harry with a significant gaze. "I have delightful news, Mr. Potter. A year of planning has come to fruition."

Harry blinked. His words rang absolutely no bells in Harry's mind. "Sir?" he asked, nonplussed.

"We have acquired a tablet inscribed with ancient Uspantek," Dumbledore announced, his underhanded delight visible in the twinkling of his eyes as he sat back in his chair, gesturing widely. "It seems your internship can move forward as hoped."

Harry's mind raced frantically. What? Uspantek—the language Snape had told Umbridge Harry was studying. This was a blatant lie. He looked at Dumbledore again and smiled widely, joyfully.

"Sir, that's fantastic!" he said. He didn't even have to fake his enthusiasm. Umbridge's narrow eyed expression was enough. "I hadn't thought it would happen this year! I'd given up!"

"We nearly had as well," Dumbledore agreed. "But then we discovered a small Brazilian museum that was persuaded to loan out one of their lesser pieces in the name of education." Dumbledore gestured to a parcel that sat to one side on his desk. "For a limited time only, I'm afraid, and only with very specific limitations. We will have to confer with Professor Snape and adjust your schedule, of course. We don't want this to interrupt your O.W.L. study, but this opportunity simply cannot be missed."

"Definitely not," Harry agreed, still grinning brightly. Snape had come through again, as expected. The look of pure, helpless rage in Umbridge's eyes made it easy for Harry to forgive him completely for how long it had taken. "I can't wait to get a look at it, sir, I truly can't thank you enough."

"You may thank me by applying yourself to this task with your full attention, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore assured him, smiling back benevolently. "As I have said, time is of the essence. We will have to return the tablet in two short months." He looked to Umbridge, who now looked as though she'd eaten something that had gone rotten. "Dolores, with such an unexpected opportunity at hand, I think you'll agree that Mr. Potter's current detentions must be waived in order that he may focus on this internship."

"Professor Dumbledore," Umbridge's mouth twisted. "Despite this… sterling opportunity, I must say that I don't feel special treatment is warranted. If Mr. Potter wishes to excel academically, he must also develop strength of moral character."

"Certainly," Dumbledore said waving a blithe hand. "You make a compelling argument Dolores, but I'm afraid you are unaware of certain practices commonly upheld at Hogwarts. Special dispensations have long been allowed for internships of this nature. Miss Li of Ravenclaw's detentions have been transmuted into cleaning duty in the hospital wing since her fourth year, as an allowance for her internship with Madam Pomfrey, and I believe Mr. Blandings of Hufflepuff has had a similar understanding since he began seeking his Mastery in Charms."

"Professor Dumbledore, I hardly think—"

Dumbledore held up his hand to halt her words. "I understand that you may wish to know more about the intricacies of our upper year optional academics, Professor Umbridge, and I would be delighted to discuss it with you in more detail, but I must first send Mr. Potter on his way. Professor Snape will be expecting him for an orientation meeting. Mr. Potter?"

Harry was feeling nearly lightheaded with the enormity of what Dumbledore had just done for him. "Professor, thank you again," he said earnestly, glancing at the parcel and wondering if they really had acquired a tablet in some South American language. They must have; no doubt Umbridge would demand to see it.

"We will meet in a few weeks to discuss your internship," Dumbledore said, nodding to Harry. "I wish to hear all about your progress, Mr. Potter."

"Yes sir, thank you, sir," Harry said, and backed out of the office at Dumbledore's wave of dismissal. Umbridge watched him go with dark, furious eyes, but said nothing.

* * *

"They're worried about those dreams I was having," Harry explained to his friends later that night, the four of them crowded behind Harry's bed curtains with a silencing ward wrapped tightly around them. "Draco, Snape said you were right that they were a problem."

"I'm always right," he declared, resting his chin on the pillow in his arms and staring up at the ceiling. "I'm not looking at any of you, so you'll have to speak up if you want to burst my bubble."

Blaise rolled his eyes and scoffed fondly, then looked at Harry again. "Are you just doing more of your lessons, then? Is there more to it?"

"We're moving a little faster than we were with the Legilimency," Harry admitted. "We're doing a lot more of the nonverbal dueling, too. And I have to keep a dream journal now. I think Snape's worried something's going to happen soon, but I don't know what."

Draco slumped down against the headboard, pushing his feet into Pansy's space. "It had better not happen soon," he said. "We can't afford for the Dark Lord to interrupt O.W.L.s. I need good scores."

Pansy tsked and rearranged her blanket to cover Draco's feet. "D'you think we should write him a polite letter asking him to hold off until the end of June?"

"No, people like that only respond to threats," Blaise said, nudging her. "We'll have Harry send him a Howler." The two of them looked at Harry expectantly, and he stared back, waiting for the joke to end.

"I'm not sending Voldemort a Howler," Harry exclaimed, when he realized that even Draco was peering up from behind his pillow, waiting for a response. "I shouldn't have to say that that goes without saying!"

"Harry's right," Draco agreed. "He'd probably show up tomorrow, just to be contrary."

"This isn't actually as funny as you all think it is," Harry reminded them.

"I'm completely serious, Harry," Blaise deadpanned, even as Pansy eyed him closely, concern flickering in her eyes. She seemed to decide after a moment that he really was fine, and nodded along with Blaise.

"Maybe not a Howler though," she mused. "Draco's right: that could backfire. What you ought to do is write him a strongly worded letter."

"Very strongly worded," Draco agreed. "Put in a few from me, too. Anonymously, you understand. Something like, 'You ugly homewrecking mudblood, et cetera, et cetera.'"

"I want to disapprove of your use of that word," Harry said, looking down at the top of Draco's head. "It's still racist, even if it is Voldemort."

"Are you saying you won't write it in your letter?" Draco asked, and to his credit, he'd only flinched a little at the name. "Fine, how about—"

"Draco, I'm not writing a letter," Harry said firmly. "This is a stupid conversation. Every adult we know would skin me alive for even joking about it. Hermione, too."

"Fine," Draco muttered. After a long moment, he said, "Maybe I'll write a letter, then."

Harry peered at him, but couldn't honestly tell if the mutinous expression on his face meant he was serious or not. "Are we going to have to confiscate all your parchment?" he ventured tentatively.

The silence from behind Draco's pillow made the rest of them hesitate. "Draco, say you're not thinking of doing anything stupid," Blaise said, a frown marring his forehead.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" Draco asked rhetorically, pushing himself up on one hand and staring around at each of them. "There's a reason I was disowned. The Dark Lord knows my loyalties don't lie with him, and so does everyone who's been faithful to him. I'm a traitor to the cause, I'm already a target, and even if I wasn't I'm a pariah in every social circle I've ever walked in!" His voice rose until Harry was frankly glad they'd put up the silencing ward. "I have a meeting with the Headmaster in a week to discuss where I'll be staying for the bloody summer holiday so I don't end up dead by the end of June. What does it bloody  _matter_  if I write the Dark Lord a bloody letter?"

Pansy sat up too, putting a calming hand on his knee. "Draco—"

"It matters because it's the difference between changing sides and blatant mockery, Draco," Blaise said sharply. "We were joking earlier. This isn't funny, Harry's right."

"You think I think this is  _funny_?" Draco echoed, his eyes slightly wild. "My parents haven't spoken to me since January. I don't have  _anything_  left, do you not understand that? Nothing, Blaise. Who gives a damn about some stupid vault full ofgold? Who cares about diplomacy and bloody tactical maneuvers? I might as well not even have a  _surname_  anymore. My past is  _empty_  now, who gives a shit about my future?"

"Your friends, for one," Pansy cut in, her grip on Draco's ankle tightening so that he couldn't pull away further. "Draco, I want you to promise us you're not going to get reckless."

"I can't promise anything." Draco glared, his knuckles white where he gripped his pillow. "The future's wide open now, isn't it? Who know's what'll happen? I certainly don't."

"I do," Harry declared, leaning in so that Draco couldn't ignore him, and glaring right back. "If you do something stupid to get yourself killed,  _I'm_  going to give a speech at your funeral. I'm going to tell everyone that everything was my fault and that you were disowned because of  _me_ , and driven to depression because of our tragically forsaken friendship. Then I'm going to tell them about how I should have known you were a delicate boy and treated you more sensitively, because of the stuffed unicorn you slept with until you turned fourteen."

"The what?" Pansy asked, instantly curious. "I didn't know about that."

"Neither did I," Draco said through gritted teeth. "Harry—"

"I will then tell everyone all your most embarrassing secrets, and I will make them up if I have to," Harry continued, undeterred. "And I will say every word through noble,  _noble_  tears, do you understand me, Draco?"

Draco was silent. Harry met his gaze with as much unyielding promise as he could muster.

"You bastard," Draco said suddenly, his face contorting with outrage. "You'd actually do it, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," Harry said, not a trace of humor in his expression.

"I hate you sometimes," Draco said, their gazes still locked. "I can't believe you're my best friend."

"This is what best friends do," Harry informed him, not acknowledging Pansy and Blaise, who he could see beaming at them out of the corner of his eye. "They humiliate each other for their own good."

Draco finally slumped back against the headboard, going boneless. "I'll keep that in mind," he said ominously. After a beat, he added, "And I promise, Pansy."

* * *

Harry explained his 'internship' in broad terms to the Gryffindors the next day in the library. Without the privacy of a silencing ward and a quiet dormitory, he largely stuck to the story they'd given Umbridge, and let his friends read between the lines.

"Wait, so your lessons with Snape are back on?" Dudley asked, baffled. Harry nodded. "But they're—"

"They're exactly the same as they were before, but more," Harry said. "Now let's figure out who's  _listening in_   _on conversations_  who shouldn't be, shall we?"

"Oh," Dudley said, then his eyes widened. " _Oh_ , yes, okay!"

"Yes, now that we're all caught up," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Is everyone ready?"

"We've found everyone," Neville said, armed with parchment and a quill. "We've all got our targets, right?"

"Right," Dudley, Ron and Harry echoed. The Map was active and spread out over their library table. Each of them had their own parchment and quill at the ready.

"And you all know—"

"Hermione, this is the fourth time we've done this since February," Harry said impatiently. "Can you just activate the galleons already and let us go to work?"

"Oh, alright," she said, fretting silently as she waved her wand in a complicated pattern over her own galleon. After several seconds, she stopped and looked up at the group of them. "Good?"

"Mine's changed," Neville confirmed, and the five of them set to work locating each member of Hermione's defence group and writing down every person in the same room as them.

"I hate it when they're in the Great Hall," Neville muttered, bending over his section of the Map and squinting. "At least when they're in class there's only so many people sitting near them."

"Hang on," Ron said, scribbling frantically. He held up a finger, his eyes still fixed on the Map. "I'm writing them all, Hermione, before you say it, but I think I've found something."

"Who is it?" Hermione asked. She'd finished her list already, and moved around the table to watch Ron write. Neville joined her, gratefully abandoning his ever-growing list of students who were still having dinner.

"Rita Skeeter, near Ernie," he said, frowning. "What's she doing here? I thought reporters had to have a reason to come on the grounds?"

"Rita Skeeter!" Harry exclaimed, dropping his quill and smacking himself in the forehead from the force of his realization. "It's Rita Skeeter, Hermione!"

Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers as she stared down at the Map where Ron had indicated. "I can't believe we didn't  _think_ — Rita Skeeter!"

"She's our spy, isn't she?" Neville said, turning away and covering his eyes with one hand. "Of course she is, how could we have been so  _stupid?_ "

"We were  _so stupid_ ," Hermione agreed, shaking her head and pushing back from the table to pace in a short, frustrated circle. Ron blinked a few times and looked around at the group of them. Even Dudley was just sitting there in stunned realization.

"Am I the only one who doesn't know why Rita Skeeter is the obvious answer?" he asked, looking around at them all. "Great, I am. Someone explain."

"She's an unregistered animagus," Harry said in an undertone, leaning closer across the table. "We figured it out last year. The wards they put up to trap Pettigrew on the grounds worked on her, and she was stuck here. We didn't even  _think_  to realize that she'd still be here. Of course she'd still be here!"

"She must have been stuck here all year," Neville agreed, dropping into his seat. Hermione followed, still shaking her head over and over.

"I can't believe it's been Rita Skeeter, all this time," she said again. "I can't believe we didn't even  _think_  of her."

"If it's her, she's working for Umbridge," Harry realized.

Neville scoffed. "Of course she is, she's stuck on the grounds and you blackmailed her so she can't publish anymore, Harry. And she's awful. What else is she going to do?"

"How are we supposed to fix this, then?" Hermione asked, distressed. "We can't just  _tell_  everyone she's an unregistered animagus, you'll be in enormous trouble for what you did to her, Harry, and even if she does face charges, she'll start publishing again if you don't have that to hold over her."

"And I bet she won't be nice about it," Ron agreed. "What kind of animagus is she? Can't we just be vague about  _who_ it is and tell them what they're looking for instead?"

The other three Gryffindors all looked to Harry, who scrubbed a hand through his hair. "We never exactly found out," Harry admitted. "She didn't elaborate past what we'd already told her we knew, and we only knew she must be one, not what she is." He glanced back down at the Map. "They're near the lake. She could be almost anything and they wouldn't notice her, outside."

"She'd have to be unremarkable looking, to have gotten away with it for so long," Hermione agreed.

All five of them fell into a defeated silence, until Neville finally spoke up. "Well, there's always Easter break, isn't there?"

Harry blinked, but it was Hermione who spoke up. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you can track her down, can't you?" Neville said, tapping the Map. "With this. It should be easy enough, shouldn't it?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, nodding. "We can do that. And… well, in the meantime, at least now we know to keep an eye out for her, right?"

"Right," Hermione echoed, staring down at Skeeter's name on the Map. "I'm going to have to change the meeting time once she leaves, aren't I?"

"That's probably best," Harry nodded, and the others murmured their agreement. They all bent over the Map in silence, watching and waiting.

* * *

The first thing Harry thought when he stepped through the door of Snape's office on their next meeting, was that Snape would be furious if Harry did something else involving Rita Skeeter and didn't tell him again.

Well, Harry would tell him this time, if they did end up doing something. He might even tell Snape about the situation tonight. Snape might have some good advice; in fact, he was almost guaranteed to.

"Have you thought about your future career, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, once Harry had sat down in his usual seat and handed over his Legilimency essay and dream journal. Harry froze.

"Wh-what?" he stuttered, then cleared his throat. "What?"

"When you graduate," Snape prompted, flipping through Harry's journal and scanning the newest pages.

"Ah. Well, aside from going to South America, you mean?" Harry asked nervously. Snape glanced up at him, then continued to peruse the journal without responding. "Right, you mean seriously. Er. Well. No?"

Snape finished reading and set the book down, satisfied with the banality of Harry's dreams. "The O.W.L.s you're taking will put you in good standing for anything you might wish to pursue," Snape told him. "Aim for O's in all of them. Keep your options open."

"O's in all of them," Harry repeated, trying to tamp down on the trace of incredulity in his voice. Snape lifted an eyebrow. "Right. I'll try."

"Good. With your particular interests and skills, you would qualify in many fields." He handed Harry a stack of pamphlets, which Harry took with a sudden sense of impending doom. "Look through those; they're introductions to wider wizarding society meant for muggleborns; they should provide you with a broader outlook on your prospects."

Harry flipped through one of the pamphlets and frowned up at Snape, irritated at the futility of this whole conversation. "No one's going to hire me," he said, dropping the pamphlets back on the desk. "I'm a Slytherin. Worse, I'm Harry Potter. Even worse, everyone thinks I'm insane or evil. Even worse than that! How am I meant to get a job when there's a Dark Lord who's trying to break into my mind and wants me dead?"

Snape steepled his fingers under his chin and nodded while Harry spoke.

"The Dark Lord will not last forever," he said, once Harry had calmed and looked back up at him. "There was a time before his dominion. Granted, that was before you were born, but I assure you, there was. There will be a time after him as well, and you will live to see it." He let his pronouncement soak in and picked up the pamphlets again. "As for the rest, Slytherins experience discrimination in the workplace at a rate unrivaled by the other Houses. Even other Slytherins will refuse to hire you for fear of a power struggle. Your greatest advantage is that you are, in the end, still a Slytherin."

He handed the pamphlets back. "You will network. You will cultivate a reputation for skill and achievement in whatever field you choose. You will become indispensable. You will find those people who would ruin you, and you will ruin them first." Harry took the pamphlets dutifully as Snape continued. "You will never ask for a job: you will accept it. If you cannot manipulate the system and your notoriety to your benefit, then I fear I have wasted many years and long letters to Brazilian museums on you, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked down at the parchment in his hands, smiling and inspired despite himself. "You haven't," he decided.

"See that you remember that," Snape told him, picking up Harry's Legilimency essay. "Now, to this."

* * *

Easter break wasn't as much of a break as Harry had hoped it might be. He still had his 'internship' with Snape, and of those few of his friends who had stayed for the holidays, only Pansy was willing to occasionally step away from O.W.L. revision. Even Luna apologetically explained that Anthony was sticking close to Ravenclaw Tower, and the two of them agreed that getting to actually interact with him and catch up on what he'd been doing trumped trying to lure him out.

Pansy and Harry sat in wingback chairs near the common room fire with the Map spread out on a low table between them. Draco had set himself up on the rug nearby, his books and parchment spilling onto every available surface in a wide circle around him. They were the only people there at the moment, and were taking advantage of it.

"She just goes where ever she wants," Harry said, tracking Rita Skeeter as her dot moved at a steady pace through the third floor. "Look, she's just passed Flitwick. He didn't even pause."

"She's an animal that could reasonably be in any corridor," Pansy said, crossing a few possibilities off their list. "She's tiny then, that's for certain."

"Maybe some kind of bird, or an insect?" Harry suggested. Pansy's quill scratched down a note to that effect.

"And now she's at Umbridge's office," Harry said, watching as Skeeter paused outside the door. "Do you think Umbridge knows she's an animagus?"

"She might," Pansy said slowly, frowning.

"She doesn't," Draco disagreed, his head still bent over his Charms textbook. Harry and Pansy twisted in their seats to look at him.

"And why not?" Pansy asked. Draco lowered his book and looked up at them like they were particularly slow-witted children.

"If Umbridge knew about her animagus form, we'd know. She'd turn her into a mouthpiece for the Ministry in a second," he explained. "It wouldn't matter if you knew as well. Skeeter would be publishing articles again, and a lot of them would be about you. But Skeeter likes her independence. She's not going to make the same mistake she did in letting you find out, not with someone as powerful as Umbridge."

"Okay," Harry said, his eyes falling to the Map again. It looked like Umbridge and Skeeter were sitting across from each other at Umbridge's desk. "What can we do about her, since you're so smart?"

Draco's scornful glance intimated exactly what he thought of that. "I don't know. You're the geniuses who put yourselves in this situation when you blackmailed her."

"You thought it was a great idea over the summer," Pansy retorted immediately, setting her quill and parchment down on an uninteresting section of the Map. "Don't get all high and mighty just because things aren't going as planned."

"I just wanted her to stop publishing those awful articles," Harry said before they could start bickering. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and dropped his chin into his palm, staring down at the dots on the Map that represented the alliance of two people who took an almost obscenely vindictive pleasure in making his life miserable. Draco visibly bit back whatever he'd been about to say and frowned down at his book.

"We could always owl her and tell her to stop working with Umbridge, else we'll let Umbridge know about her form," Draco offered, then grimaced. "Never mind, that's a terrible idea."

"She'd call our bluff," Pansy agreed. "How about, 'stop working with Umbridge, or we'll tell everyone?'"

"Once it's out in the open, she can use whatever leverage she's been building up this year to get out of the charges," Draco disagreed. "Now's the worst time to go public with it, when she and Umbridge are working together so closely."

"And her readers would love it, I bet," Harry grumbled. "They're vultures. Her secretly being an animagus would only make her more popular."

"Probably," Pansy agreed. The three of them fell into contemplative silence.

"We can't do anything right now, can we," Harry said out loud. He sounded hopeless, even to himself.

"We can keep an eye on her," Pansy said. "And figure out what she is."

"And never talk about anything important without wards up or the Map out," Draco tacked on.

"This year just keeps getting better and better," Harry said, wiping the Map clean as the door to the common room opened and several younger Slytherins spilled in. "Next thing you know, my aunt Marge will turn up and they'll start a club for people who hate me."

"It'd just be a whole lot of middle aged women and Death Eaters," Pansy said dismissively. She seemed to realize what she'd said and snickered. "You do offend a very specific type, don't you, Harry?"


	19. The Thievery

May brought with it an edgy tension that filled the common rooms, library, and anywhere else fifth or seventh years frequented, including the dormitories.

"Snape told me I had to get all O's," Draco moaned one morning, his voice muffled from under his pillows. "Harry, I can't get all O's, I haven't been paying that close of attention."

"Draco, you have high marks in all your classes," Blaise said patiently. He stood on the other side of the bed, ready to react if Draco tried to lock himself in the loo this time. They were going to miss breakfast, at this rate. "You have to stop panicking. You'll do fine."

"I can't just do fine, I have to do brilliantly." Draco's words had an edge of hysteria to them that had Harry and Blaise exchanging worried glances over his hidden form. "If I don't do brilliantly, everyone will have the perfect excuse to refuse to associate with me, and I'll end up working in Muggle Relations and living in a hovel like a Weasley."

"That's nonsense," Harry said soothingly. "If nothing else, you can marry Blaise's mum. Has the newest husband died yet, Blaise?"

"Bugger off," Blaise said, glaring at him. "She says she likes this one."

"I can't get all O's," Draco repeated desolately from under the covers. Harry and Blaise looked back at the pile of blankets that concealed Draco.

"You definitely won't if you don't go to class," Blaise pointed out. "Draco, you have to at least try."

"I am trying! I spend more time reading these days than a bloody Ravenclaw."

Harry cast around for something to break Draco out of his panic. "Look, I can get Hermione's revision notes for you if you like."

Draco's eyes appeared through a gap in his blankets. "You'd steal from your swotty Gryffindor so I can pass my O.W.L.'s?"

"What— no, I…" Harry stopped himself and rolled his eyes. In this state, Draco wouldn't put as much stock in the notes if Harry told him he was just going to use a copying spell. "Yes. Yes, I'll steal from Hermione. But only if you get out of bed and come to class."

Harry and Blaise held their breath as Draco deliberated, still hidden by his blankets.

"For all the classes we have in common, right?"

"Hermione's taking all the classes."

"She is not taking all the classes," Blaise disagreed immediately. "That's not even possible in terms of scheduling."

"I don't think she's taking Divination," Harry admitted, not wanting to get into it. Hermione's possession of a Time Turner wasn't his secret to tell. And anyway, Draco would probably want him to steal that, too. "I don't remember. But you're not even taking that, Draco, so it doesn't matter. She's taking all the same O.W.L.'s as you."

"This will be good revenge for setting you up to fail with that study group," Draco decided, sounding pleased. Harry gave Blaise a long, flat look, though his gaze was drawn back to the bed when Draco finally sat up.

"Did you just get weekly updates on my life while we weren't talking?" he asked. Draco put on his slippers and padded across the stone floor, toothbrush and wand in one hand and a pile of robes under his other arm.

"Something like that," he said in a distracted sort of way as he disappeared into the bathroom. Harry frowned at Blaise.

"Why didn't I get weekly updates?"

"You didn't seem like you wanted weekly updates," Blaise shrugged. "We gave you the highlights."

Draco reappeared from the bathroom, looking much more presentable. "I'm going to get all O's," he announced, pulling a comb through his hair. "Otherwise, I'll be moving in with one of you after graduation, understood?"

Harry and Blaise shared a moment of alarmed eye contact. "Yes," Blaise said quickly, turning away before Draco could see his reaction. "Of course, Draco, that's no problem."

"Sirius said he'd be happy to help you out," Harry remembered. They'd spoken about Draco in the mirror at length since Harry found out he'd been disowned. "He says hello, too. I think he likes you better now."

"That's right, isn't it?" Draco said suddenly. "I'm on the dark side of the family tree now."

"We're calling it the 'dark' side?" Harry asked doubtfully as the three of them left the dormitory. "I don't think that's entirely accurate. Sirius calls it the 'scorched' side. I like that better."

"I have…" Draco hesitated, some of his customary gloom retaking him. "Well, I had an uncle on the Malfoy side who was disowned for poisoning his elder brother. Not everyone's like me and Sirius."

Harry stopped as they reached the exit to the common room, struck by a sudden idea. "I need to grab something," he told them, turning back toward the dormitories. "I'll catch you up."

"We'll save you a muffin," Blaise promised as they joined a group leaving. Harry waved to show he'd heard and jogged back to their dorm at pace.

He unspelled his nightstand for long enough to open it and pull out his mirror.

"Sirius?" he asked, tapping his foot in a staccato as he waited for an answer. He didn't want to risk flashing such a useful gift around where someone like Umbridge could decide it needed to be confiscated, else he'd walk while he waited.

"Good morning, Harry," Sirius said after a moment. His face floated into view, smiling curiously. "Aren't you supposed to be in classes or something?"

"Breakfast, at the moment," he said. "I have a favour to ask. Can I give this to Draco for a while so you can talk?"

"I'd be— shut up, Remus," Sirius said, his features contorting with annoyance as he glanced at something beyond the frame. "Yes, of course you can, Harry. Remus is being smug. He wanted me to suggest it, actually, but I wasn't sure if he'd want to talk to me."

"Oh," Harry said, pleased. "I think he'll be willing. I'll talk to him about it today." His expression sobered. "It's just that he's been doing, well… badly, since it happened."

"He would be," Sirius said, nodding along with Harry's words. "I'm still shocked that Narcissa would have allowed it. I thought better of her than this."

"He says he hasn't heard from either of his parents since it happened," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is that normal? Is that just how it works, being disowned?"

"Well, I for one heard plenty from my sweet old mum after I left," Sirius said, scowling. "The Howlers didn't stop for weeks. But then, you've met her portrait. She has a talent for that sort of thing."

"I remember," Harry said, grimacing back. They grinned at each other a second later. "Thanks, Sirius. I'll give him the mirror today. He should be the next one to call."

"I'll keep it handy," Sirius promised. They said a brief goodbye, and Harry stuffed the mirror in his pocket before dashing out of the dormitory and up to breakfast, hoping to catch the last few minutes.

* * *

"Hermione, I'm going to steal one of these, okay?" Harry said, picking up a copy of the massive study guide she'd compiled for her group. This close to O.W.L.s, they really were just a very large study group, and Hermione was passing out her notes like candy. Harry hoped Draco didn't catch wind of the news and retreat to his bed out of spite.

"Take some for the other Slytherins, too, I made you all copies," she said, flicking her hand absently at the pile, her face buried in a book.

"Cheers," Harry said, pleased. He'd just concoct some story for Draco. Who cared, really: Hermione's notes were like revision gold, and O.W.L.s were next week. Even Harry couldn't ignore the tight anxiety that wrapped itself around his chest at the thought these days. Everything had been given over to O.W.L. preparation: anti-cheating lectures during classes, last minute revision out of classes, and a quiet but frantic student trade in good luck charms and amulets that were sketchy even by Luna's standards.

Padma had informed Harry in no uncertain terms two weeks ago that she had no intention of even looking at him until her final exam was over, let alone spending time together. He hadn't found a way to object that Pansy and Hermione both approved of, so he hadn't done anything about it.

"I told Snape about the Skeeter situation," Harry mentioned, because he thought he should. "He yelled at me, then he said he'd sort it out."

"Good," Hermione said, her brow furrowing as she followed a line of text with her finger. "I've been worried about that. I don't like not being completely sure what her form is when we're unable to do anything about her."

"Granger," a voice said from the end of the table. Harry and Hermione looked up, twin expressions of surprise and trepidation on their faces when they saw the speaker. It was Cadwallader, a sixth year Hufflepuff. He was one of the ones Umbridge had labeled; the Inquisitorial Squad pin glinted on his chest.

"Can I help you?" she asked, marking her page with a scrap of parchment and sitting up straight. Harry stayed silent, hoping that perhaps things wouldn't escalate as quickly if he went unnoticed.

"Umbridge wants you in her office, now," Cadwallader said imperiously. He glanced at Harry, pursed his lips, and added, "You too. She said if you were together you were to come as well."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, mystified and worried. They didn't have to speak to know they were both thinking the same thing: Had Umbridge finally decided to do away with Hermione's group altogether by attacking her directly? Harry had no doubt he'd be caught up in the blame despite only having attended the first meeting; the past weeks since the beginning of his internship had proven that if Umbridge could find a reason to punish him, she'd take it, even if she couldn't give him detention.

They packed their books and parchments away, Hermione taking more care with hers than Harry did, and followed Cadwallader out of the library. He led them to Umbridge's office in silence. Neither of them dared to speak out loud. Hermione clutched the books in her arms with white knuckles.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said in her ever-sweet voice, her eyes glinting. "Please take a seat. Thank you, Jeffrey, you're dismissed."

Cadwallader nodded and left without even a glance at Harry or Hermione, shutting the door and closing them inside Umbridge's office with her and all of her cat-covered plates staring at them with unnervingly wide gazes.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, let me be frank," Umbridge said, folding her hands on her desk. She didn't seem particularly upset, or even over pleased. Her tone was almost administrative. "I wish to speak with you both on separate matters relating to your schooling."

Harry and Hermione exchanged confused glances. This wasn't the inquisition they were expecting.

"We will begin with you, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, reaching for a sheet of parchment and consulting it. "How goes your translation?"

Harry blinked, startled. "Er, it's going well, actually," he said, mentally panicking. He forced himself to slide back into his Occlusion, and relaxed a bit. Words tripped off his tongue almost without thought. "I'm fascinated by the construct of their gerund form. It's difficult to tell the difference between the continuous future and the subjunctive: the method is very different from English, and-"

"Yes, but what are the contents of the tablet?" Umbridge interrupted, displeasure and irritation clear on her face. Hermione was looking at Harry with open shock, probably because she hadn't expected him to know so many ridiculous grammatical terms. He and Snape did discuss these things occasionally; he wasn't completely unprepared.

"I'm not sure, like I was saying, the difference between the future and…" He interrupted himself as he saw her about to speak, and rushed to give the answer he and Snape had discussed, should he ever be asked this question. "It's either a prophecy or a fictionalized account of a war between two different tribes. I'll need to keep studying it to be certain."

Umbridge retreated from the edge of her seat, eyeing him for a long, silent moment. "Very well," she said grudgingly, and turned to Hermione. A glint appeared in her eyes. "Miss Granger. As a representative of the Ministry, in addition to my role as your professor, I feel obliged to inform you that we must confiscate your Time Turner for the duration of the O.W.L. testing period."

"My—my Time Turner?" Hermione repeated, surprised. Her hand went to her throat, where the gold chain glittered.

"Surely you appreciate the necessity," Umbridge said, raising her eyebrows in a perfunctory manner as she consulted another parchment. "We can't have you time travelling during exams, that would be an incredible violation of the anti-cheating edicts. You have been cleared for further use; it will, of course, be returned to you at the start of the new school year. I'll need you to sign these forms." She pushed the parchment across the desk toward Hermione, who blinked and nodded, even as she began pulling the chain out from under her robes. Harry glanced at Umbridge and was startled by the flash of eagerness in her eyes as she watched Hermione extract the long length of chain.

"Here it—it…" Hermione faltered. She held the chain in her hands, staring at the lack of Time Turner at the end. "I—just a moment." She lifted the chain from around her neck and let it puddle on the desk, then began patting down her front and her pockets, her movements becoming more and more frantic as she searched. "It's not—it's not here!"

She stood suddenly, looking on the floor around her chair. She met Harry's eyes with panic in her stare as her search proved fruitless. Harry looked between her and the satisfied expression on Umbridge's face now that Hermione couldn't see her, and knew. Umbridge had orchestrated this moment. She'd planned for Hermione's Time Turner to be missing.

"Skeeter," Harry mouthed, and Hermione's arms dropped to her sides in despair.

"Are you about to claim that you lost it?" Umbridge asked in even, measured tones. Hermione turned back to face her and sank into her chair as though falling backward off a cliff without a broom. "Miss Granger, as I am sure you are quite aware, there are protective spells on that Time Turner that prevent it from being accidentally misplaced. And as I am certain you are also aware, those spells exist because of the very valuable, very rare nature of the magical instrument you have… hem hem. Misplaced."

"Professor, I would never—" Hermione's earnest words were cut off by Umbridge's throat clearing again.

"I am most disappointed," she said severely, though if Harry had to pick an emotion to match to her expression, disappointment would be the last one he'd choose. Umbridge picked up the forms she'd passed to Hermione and neatened them in a sharp tap against her desk, then set them precisely in front of her as she deliberated her next words.

Harry stilled in his seat, Occluding almost to the exclusion of all other thought in the hopes that it would somehow give him insight into how to fix this. Bringing up Skeeter at the moment would be worse than useless. It would only tip her off, and might even make Umbridge feel she could be bolder with whatever plan she had for the two of them; Harry wasn't missing the way she occasionally glanced at him.

"Blatant theft of Ministry property cannot be tolerated," Umbridge finally said, and the cold finality of her words made Hermione quail in her seat, even as Harry's mind raced in circles to find a way out of this. The softening of Umbridge's expression after that was only more terrifying. "Though," she continued, tilting her head and eyeing Hermione kindly. "You are a model student, aren't you? Perhaps you should be given the benefit of the doubt. I do have a question, dear."

"Yes, ma'am?" Hermione asked, refusing to look up from her knees. Harry could hear the note of distrust mingling with hope.

"Who else knew about your possession of the Time Turner?"

Hermione's breath caught, but she was firm. "No one else, ma'am."

Umbridge's voice was soothing. "If we could discover the real culprit, of course all charges against you would be dropped."

Harry could see Hermione tensing at talk of 'charges' and 'culprits', but to her credit, she continued the lie, saying, "No one else knew, I was told not to tell anyone, so I didn't."

"Is that so?" Umbridge asked, her eyes shifting from Hermione to land squarely on Harry. "Because Mr. Potter showed an astonishing lack of surprise at the mention of your time travelling."

Harry opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to find the words to respond with. "I didn't take it," he denied.

"Were you aware of its existence?" Umbridge asked, and Harry didn't know how best to answer that. He hesitated for long enough that Umbridge nodded, apparently satisfied with his silence as an answer. "I thought so. Miss Granger—"

"She didn't tell me," Harry cut in, unable to keep quiet when Umbridge was looking at his friend like she was a particularly juicy fly. "I just noticed that her schedule was impossible and figured it out on my own."

"Subterfuge on your part?" Umbridge asked, smiling even more widely. "How suspicious of you, Mr. Potter."

"He didn't do anything wrong," Hermione insisted, though she must know trying to convince Umbridge would be useless. Everyone in the room knew who had really taken the Time Turner, and it was clear now exactly why. "He was just worried about me. After he figured it out, we never even talked about it again."

"Of course you wouldn't, dear," Umbridge said, her eyes fixed on Harry now. Harry met her gaze with unease. "It wouldn't be very… well, Slytherin of him to call attention to his interest in your bauble when he was planning to steal it, now would it?"

"He didn't steal it!" Hermione cried, her fists clenching on her knees.

"Youthful Gryffindors are the most trusting of all, once you gain their loyalty." Umbridge spoke to Harry now, her eyes narrow with malicious amusement. "Don't you think so, Mr. Potter? I suppose it was easy for you to collect a gaggle of your own, having a relative among them as you do."

"He didn't—"

Harry forced himself to continue staring at Umbridge, daring to risk dipping into the surface layer of her thoughts and having to bite the inside of his cheek when he discovered her intentions. Expulsion, arrest, defamation, and that was just to start. He'd known she hated him, but knowing it and feeling it seep through her thoughts like bile were worlds apart. "Hermione didn't do anything wrong," he said, swallowing down the gorge that rose at the back of his throat. "She's completely innocent."

"Indeed," Umbridge agreed easily. "She is no more than the victim of a particularly reprehensible Slytherin trick. You, on the other hand, will be answering for your crimes."

"He didn't trick—!"

"We will conduct a search of your dormitory," Umbridge continued, undeterred, and all hope Harry had of throwing caution to the wind and implicating Skeeter once he was free of this office went up in smoke. Wanting to search the boys' dorm meant Skeeter had likely already planted the Time Turner somewhere among his things, and she was smart enough to make herself scarce during all this, trapped on the grounds or no. "You will be detained, of course, and we will—"

"Professor Dumbledore should be here for this," Hermione interrupted, clutching at the sides of her chair. Her face was white and pinched, but she spoke forcefully. "And his Head of House. Professor Snape. One of them must be present during any discussion of punishments greater than or equal to suspension. It's the rules."

Umbridge's mouth thinned into a flat line. "Educational Decree number twenty eight—"

"Doesn't technically authorize you to fill in for Professor Dumbledore," Hermione interrupted, in a stunning display of Gryffindor bravery. Harry was surprised they weren't both dead yet, from the way Umbridge's fingers twitched toward her wand as Hermione continued. "The Headmaster isn't considered a staff member, according to Hogwarts, A History. It's in following with the early tradition that the Head of Hogwarts should also be a leader in wizarding society at large, and calling them a 'staff member' would detract from the air of broader authority the Headship was supposed to have. The position is also meant to include an honorary membership in the Wizengamot without election as well, but…"

She seemed to realize she was going to lose the chance to make her point if she continued, and rounded it off hastily by saying, "What I mean is that he's not described as staff in the way that the Minister for Magic isn't described as just another Ministry employee, because he's elected to the highest office. So the wording of the Decree doesn't technically include him in the removal of authority over punishment." Umbridge's eyes were dark with rage, and Hermione paused for breath before finishing in a squeak, "So he should be here."

In that brief moment, as Umbridge stared wordlessly at her, Harry felt a flash of pure, unadulterated adoration for Hermione. He decided that he would never hear another word against her from the other Slytherins, study group be damned.

"She's right," he said, when Umbridge seemed ready to continue glaring until she thought up a rebuttal. "I want Professor Dumbledore involved."

Umbridge's ugly expression slowly smoothed out as she considered the two of them, and returned to her usual cloying smile as she stood. "Very well," she said, flicking her wand in the air and pacing toward the door. "Perhaps it is… proper that he bear witness to your shame, Mr. Potter. We will send for him."

She opened the door when someone knocked. "Yes, ma'am?" they said. From the voice, it was almost definitely a member of her Inquisitorial Squad.

"Please inform Professor Dumbledore that a rather serious matter has been brought to light, and that I request his presence in my office in order that he might assist."

"Yes, ma'am," the voice said, and Umbridge closed the door on them. She crossed the room and tossed a bit of floo powder into the fireplace. Harry's sense of the trouble he was in increased sharply as, after a moment of conferring with someone through the fire, Umbridge stepped back to allow two uniformed Aurors to step through the flames.

After that, she returned to her chair and sat primly, folding her hands on the desk and smiling at Hermione as the Aurors flanked her behind her chair, watching Harry with unreadable expressions.

"Don't you worry, Miss Granger," she said, her entire being oozing satisfaction. "This matter will be settled soon enough, and your mistaken trust will not cost you more heavily than it already has."

"It wasn't mistaken," Hermione said, distressed. On some level, Harry appreciated her continued defence of him, useless though it was. "Harry and I have been friends since first year, he wouldn't—"

"And yet, I am quite certain that the evidence will suggest otherwise," Umbridge declared, and silence fell while they waited for Dumbledore to arrive. Harry stared at the Aurors as he considered the situation from all angles. None of his options achieved the desired goal of keeping him at Hogwarts and out of Azkaban.

He wished it were Snape who was on his way to Umbridge's office. He had all the pieces of the puzzle. Who knew if Dumbledore was even aware of Skeeter's presence on campus? Would Snape have told him already? What if they found the Time Turner and Dumbledore believed Harry had really stolen it? He wished they'd been able to track Skeeter down before all this, but whatever her form was, she'd been able to evade them easily.

A brisk knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and announced Dumbledore's arrival. The Headmaster hardly waited for Umbridge's call to enter, sweeping inside and taking in the situation with a keen, sober eye.

"You asked for my assistance, Dolores?" he said, turning his intent gaze on her. He nodded at the Aurors as an afterthought. "Dawlish, Pritchard."

"Miss Granger's Time Turner has gone missing," Umbridge explained, gesturing between Harry and Hermione. "Mr. Potter has admitted to an illicit awareness of the instrument, and has all but confessed to having stolen it. A search—"

"No, he didn't!"

"I did not!" Harry exclaimed right alongside Hermione, sitting forward in his seat. "All I said was that I knew Hermione had a Time Turner, I never confessed to anything!"

Umbridge gave him a cool glance. "He is the prime suspect, with good reason. I am certain a search of his dormitory will prove fruitful, Headmaster."

"I didn't take it," Harry said, looking up at Dumbledore with fear churning in his chest. He thought briefly of dropping his Occlumency walls to let Dumbledore see; of shouting out the truth about Skeeter and Umbridge's machinations. Had it been Snape, he wouldn't have hesitated in giving him full mental access. Then again, Snape already knew. Instead, he pushed the relevant thoughts to the fore of his mind, past the barriers he had in place, and focused on thinking them as directly as he could at the Headmaster, who met his eyes with unusual seriousness.

"I'm afraid there has been a rather grave misunderstanding, Dolores," Dumbledore said slowly, still staring at Harry. After a moment, he turned back to Umbridge, folding his hands in front of himself and by all accounts, appearing nothing more than apologetic. "Miss Granger's Time Turner was not stolen at all."

Umbridge stood, frowning. "I think you will find it has been," she said, gesturing at the abandoned gold chain on her desk. "Miss Granger was quite genuinely distressed to find it gone, Headmaster, and the charms—"

"Can be countered by a powerful wizard," Dumbledore finished for her, bowing his head briefly. "I am afraid I must admit some fault in this matter."

Harry and Hermione shared a confused glance before their attention was drawn by Umbridge's next words. She clenched her fists at her side, wand gripped in one hand, and said, "If you would explain, Headmaster?"

"I had urgent need of a Time Turner, and I am afraid I borrowed Miss Granger's," Dumbledore admitted, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I had every intention of returning it with all due haste, but these things do quite get away from one with a schedule such as mine. I'm sure you understand, Dolores."

Umbridge was near vibrating now. Harry had thought she was angry at Dumbledore, but the way her expression twitched spoke of a more intense version of the kind of suppressed glee he used to see on her face when she managed to get one over on Snape and give Harry a week of detentions. "Professor Dumbledore, are you suggesting that you stole protected Ministry property? Whatever for, I do wonder?"

"I believe that information is best kept, ah, 'off the record'," Dumbledore said lightly. "Though I will remind you that I merely intended to borrow it. 'Steal' is such a provocative word, don't you think?"

"It is high treason to steal objects belonging to the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore," Umbridge informed him, her smile twisting into something almost offensively smug as she ignored his correction. The Aurors straightened where they stood, as surprised as Harry and Hermione at this turn of events. "I'm afraid I have no choice. You will be escorted back to the Ministry to submit to questioning, wherein you will explain the ends to which you put such a powerful magical device."

Dumbledore considered this. "No," he said after a long moment. "No, that won't do at all. How does… yes, I believe I'll have time to meet with the Minister and explain the situation on Wednesday afternoon." He raised his eyebrows at her as he awaited a response, as though they were negotiating a future business meeting and not interrogation.

"I am not giving you the option, Dumbledore!" Umbridge shouted, putting her hands flat on the desk and pushing herself to her feet as she lost her temper. "You are under arrest by my authority as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic!"

"For borrowing a Time Turner?" Dumbledore asked, skeptical. "Don't be absurd, Dolores."

"Don't be—! You—!" Umbridge's face had gone a splotchy red in her outrage. She looked to her Aurors, who shifted in place and seemed to be unwilling to move without the direct order that Umbridge, unprepared for the windfall dropped in front of her and clearly debating whose word would carry more sway, didn't give. Dumbledore gave the whole lot of them a reproving glance, and gestured for Harry and Hermione to stand and follow him. They did so hastily, and Dumbledore held the door open for them as they passed. Harry frequently felt enormous relief when leaving this room, but never so much as today, when Dumbledore waited for them both to step over the threshold before giving them a small, secret smile, and turning back to Umbridge.

"I will meet with the Minister to explain myself to him personally at his earliest convenience, Dolores," Dumbledore said firmly. "I assure you we needn't make this a difficult situation. I have only the best interests of Hogwarts and the Ministry in mind, and I know that Minister Fudge will understand and agree."

Dumbledore gave her another polite, firm smile and closed the door on her furious face and the uncertain expressions of the Aurors.

"To my office, I think," he told Harry and Hermione. "Do you happen to know where that Time Turner ended up?"

"We think she planted it in Harry's dormitory," Hermione said. Harry was unsurprised that the two of them had reached the same conclusion and nodded, his heart still racing.

"We will have to see it returned to Miss Granger as soon as possible," Dumbledore decided, waving his wand. Something silver burst from it and sped away faster than Harry could identify it.

"Rita Skeeter-"

"Yes, Professor Snape filled me in once you told him," Dumbledore said, his entire countenance grave as he moved swiftly through the corridors. Harry and Hermione rushed to keep up. "She will be apprehended, of course. Your actions were nothing short of foolhardy, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah," Harry said, bowing his head. No other response came to mind, considering how the whole plan had blown up in his face so spectacularly. Dumbledore spoke the password to the gargoyles and sent Harry and Hermione up to his office first.

"Not to mention, illegal," he continued once the office door closed behind them, and Harry looked up with alarm. "I do hope the lesson here has penetrated."

"Yes," Harry assured him hastily. "Yes, it definitely has. I won't be making that same mistake again, I promise."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. "I would like to say that we were fortunate to have avoided a very detrimental situation, but I'm afraid the dust hasn't settled quite yet. It remains to be seen, exactly how much damage has been done."

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said again. He looked down at his shoes as Dumbledore played damage control through the fireplace. Hermione nudged him once and gave him a weak smile, but he could tell she felt just as culpable for even having been aware of their plan. A guilty pit had opened up in Harry's stomach, and he wasn't able to respond with anything more than a pinched expression.


	20. The O.W.L.'s

"And then Snape showed up, Dumbledore must have called him," Hermione explained to a full library table. Harry sat next to her with his hands over his face and his elbows on the table as she retold the story to their usual group, with Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and even Luna crowded in on extra chairs. "He'd gone and found my Time Turner in Harry's things, we were right."

"Of course you were right," Pansy interjected, her gaze fixed raptly on Hermione as she spoke. "Was that the end of it?"

"Ha," Harry said, and everyone's heads swiveled toward him. "That was the end of the part where I was in danger of being expelled by Umbridge."

"Snape wouldn't let you be expelled," Blaise disagreed, though his wide eyes didn't match the confidence of his words. Around them, the library was packed nearly as full as their table, with students getting in one last day of study before the O.W.L's began in the morning. They kept their voices low so as to avoid being overheard or glared at.

"Well, in the end, no," Harry admitted, feeling relieved all over again even as he said it. He sat up and let his hands drop to the table. "He let me sit there and stew for long enough while he and the Headmaster discussed what my punishment would be, though."

"It was a bit of a tense wait," Hermione agreed. "And they were interrupted by Professor Dumbledore having to firecall the Ministry again, and when he was done with that, he looked even more unhappy. We were worried."

"I was ready to go pack my things," Harry grumbled. "Snape's a git."

"That's what we've been saying since first year," Ron interrupted, sounding unnecessarily pleased.

"Quiet, Weasley, we're listening to a story, here," Draco said, his expression just as intent as Pansy's. Ron rolled his eyes, but still seemed contented with having heard a Slytherin speak less than positively about Snape. Harry resolved to trap Ron in a long conversation about the wonder and austere wisdom of their Head of House when he was in the mood for it again, because he was a good Slytherin. All else aside, Ron looked too smug for his liking.

Draco continued, a note of impatience in his voice. "You clearly haven't been expelled, so what's your punishment?"

"Since it's O.W.L.'s they're putting it off till next year, but I have a month's worth of detentions," Harry explained, and grimaced. "Real detentions, and they said they're going to be with McGonagall, not Filch or Snape."

"Harsh," Blaise said, whistling. "But I guess you did leave a person trapped on the grounds and then blackmail her."

"The only way he could have helped her leave was by telling her secret for her to Dumbledore, and we all knew about that, too," Pansy said, though she must know as well as Harry did that Blaise hadn't meant it seriously. Harry kept silent, feeling obscurely that they were saying this for the Gryffindors' benefit, in case any of them had any doubts. "She made her own choice to stay here. The only thing Harry could be faulted for is the blackmail."

"Oh, that's all, is it," Dudley said, and Harry glanced at him and raised his eyebrows at the small grin he was sporting. "Just saying," he added, his grin growing. "You Slytherins and your priorities."

"She's right, though," Neville agreed. "Skeeter could have confessed to being an unregistered animagus and left at any time. She wasn't any more stuck than she wanted to be."

"Dumbledore knows now, right?" Draco asked, sliding a sly hand across the table toward an unmonitored stack of Hermione's personal revision notes.

"Draco Malfoy, don't think I'm not watching you," Hermione snapped, smacking her hand down over the endangered parchment and giving him a gimlet eye. Draco pulled his hand back, looking more disappointed than chastised.

"He does know," Harry said, shaking his head as Hermione continued to stare and Draco blinked innocently back. "So maybe he'll let her off campus or at least stop her from working with Umbridge."

"Hermione's going to cut your hand off if you keep trying," Neville warned Draco in an undertone. "I've seen that look before."

"I just wanted to glance at them," Draco told Neville and Dudley, his expression inviting sympathy. He looked back to Hermione, whose flat stare remained uncompromising.

"Dumbledore will fix it," Ron said to Harry, as confident in the headmaster as Harry and the other Slytherins ever had been in Snape and ignoring the little drama going on across the table. "You should have just told him from the start."

"Telling the Headmaster wouldn't have stopped her from writing those articles about Harry," Pansy pointed out, rolling her eyes and leaning around Draco to take part in the serious conversation. Ron shrugged, though he frowned as though working out a way he could have done better than they had. Harry welcomed him to try.

"You wanted to steal them," Luna was saying serenely to Draco, sitting on his other side as she was. "I heard you telling Blaise earlier." Blaise sputtered and laughed, lowering his volume when the next table over glanced in their direction.

"I won't be implicated," he told Hermione as she pulled out her wand, catching the attention of the entire table and giving Ron's squinty thoughtful face a break from Slytherin scrutiny. She waved the wand over all three stacks of parchment in front of her and smiled primly at Draco.

"You can 'glance' all you want, but any attempt to take them out of my sight will make them crumble to dust," she warned, pushing the parchments forward and tucking her wand back into her robes. "Also, I'll hex you. We'll see how the proctors for the Charms O.W.L. respect you when you show up tomorrow with Gryffindor red hair."

The four Gryffindors snickered at the identical expressions of outrage on all of the Slytherins' faces.

"You wouldn't!" Draco said, leaning forward and lowering his voice in horror. "You don't understand, I need to do well—"

"And to do that, you don't need to steal from me," Hermione said severely. "We can share, Draco."

"Draco doesn't know how to share," Blaise said, leaning back in his seat and picking up his Charms textbook. "We all had to learn warding spells in first year to stop him from 'borrowing' anything of ours he liked the look of."

"Half my jumpers went missing before I got the spells straight," Harry agreed, his eyes narrowing in a remembrance that wasn't precisely fond. "And if he did return them, they were never undamaged, either. I'd get clothing back ripped or covered in ink stains or scorch marks…"

"That's because your wardrobe was filled with atrocities in first year," Draco explained. "I was helping."

"They were not atrocities—" Harry began, but he was cut off by Dudley of all people.

"Wasn't most of your clothing hand-me-downs from me in first year?" he realized, and Pansy, Blaise and Draco all made similar crowing sounds.

"You wore what even Dudley Dursley wouldn't, and yet you still try to pass them off as anything but atrocities?" Pansy exclaimed, and Dudley sat up a little straighter.

"Hey, that's not—"

"It's not like I had a lot of other options," Harry grumbled, looking around the table for help. Neville took pity.

"I had hand-me-downs from my great uncles, until I convinced Gran to let me buy my own things," he offered. "At least your clothing wasn't a century out of fashion."

"Just three stone," Draco agreed. Dudley scowled.

* * *

O.W.L.'s were harrowing. No matter that Harry sat down to his first written exam and realized he knew most of the answers off the top of his head, or that nearly the entire year had been spent in an intense state of revision. No matter that during the tests themselves, Harry forgot to be nervous and just focused on completing the tasks put before him. O.W.L.'s were harrowing because every one of his friends had gone round the twist, and spending more than five minutes near any one of them was next to impossible when the insanity was catching.

"For the last time, Pansy," Draco said, his voice strained and higher pitched than usual. "I do not have your bloody ink bottle, get away from me. I have to finish reading this before three o'clock!"

"Draco," Pansy replied, in the most passive-aggressively library-polite tone Harry had ever heard her use, "If you don't give me back my bloody ink bottle, which I know you have because I saw you take it earlier because I told you it was lucky, I will tell Harry what you told me yesterday."

Draco sneered at her, but Pansy only smirked back, assured of her victory. Harry, already thoroughly sick of the pair of them, sat up in his seat and spoke.

"What—"

Draco turned to meet his eyes directly and interrupted his question, saying, "If you ask before the Charms practical is over, I will cry, Harry." He handed over the ink bottle and buried his face in his book again, shoulders hunched.

Harry shut his own book with a snap and gathered his things from the table they were all sat at, finished with the pair of them. He'd lasted longer than Blaise, at least. He'd disappeared half an hour earlier after correcting Pansy's pronunciation on a spell and being told in return that he should do something vulgar with the cactus she was trying to charm.

Harry's stormy exit was mildly satisfying, his steps taking him automatically toward Hermione's library table. Before he came around the last shelf of books, he could hear them.

"If you ask Hermione one more question, Dudley—"

"Just because you want to monopolise her time—!"

"I am trying to study, Hermione can—"

"If you wanted to ask me all these questions, you should have come to the meeting on Sunday night, I'm  _not_  your private tutor!"

Without breaking stride, Harry turned off in a different direction. Maybe behind his warded bed curtains in his dormitory was a better place to try to finish studying for the Transfigurations exam.

He bumped into Padma as she rushed past with her arms full of books, and she came to an abrupt halt, blinking at him.

"Hi," he said, offering her a small smile. The pin holding her hair away from her face failed its duty as she shook her head rapidly, staring at him.

"Harry, hello, no, there's no time," she explained. Her dark eyes flickered down to his books and parchments, and lit on Hermione's study guide. She stilled. "Is that one of Granger's?"

Harry shifted it so she could see. "Yeah, she's been dead helpful, she made me a copy of her—"

"Harry, there's no time for light conversation," Padma said, her tone almost impatient. Harry blinked and leaned back a little.

"Sorry, I just—"

"No, I know," she said, closing her eyes for a second and shaking her head. "I just… I'm going to fail everything."

"Of course you're not," Harry said, baffled. "You're… you're a Ravenclaw."

"Being a Ravenclaw doesn't mean anything! I need to get all O's," Padma explained, and Harry was overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu. The strain in her voice and on her face as she spoke was as familiar as her words. "I don't think I can. ...you don't understand, it's very important. Su Li told me boys make you stupid, but I didn't think! And in the last half of my O.W.L. year—!"

"She told you what?" Harry asked, more confused than ever. Padma sighed.

"Look, there's no time," she repeated, fidgeting now. "Did Granger give you a different copy than she gave the study group? It looks thicker."

"Yeah, it's more recently updated, er, annotated, she said." Harry offered it for her inspection, frowning. "Are you okay?"

"Stupid question— oh, sorry," she said, sounding frustrated now, even as she flipped through the study guide. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm not— talk to me again when O.W.L.'s are over, okay? I'm being horrid."

"Okay," Harry said, watching her start to walk away. "Er, actually, I… need that… er, right. Okay."

She had already disappeared around the corner, deeply engrossed in Harry's annotated study guide. Harry stared at the spot where she'd disappeared, all but wringing his hands. Should he go after her? She'd seemed… stressed. It had been alarming. It was possible that she needed the guide more than he did.

Maybe he was being a coward, but he thought he might fare better asking Hermione for another copy.

* * *

Two practical and three written tests left, and Harry had discovered an alcove on the third floor that someone had outfitted with a small table and a couple chairs. He very pointedly told no one about it, which naturally meant Draco had followed him there and was sitting across from him, engrossed in his Herbology textbook. He was unbearable to be around lately, panicky and unwilling to allow anyone any advantage on the tests unless he had it too. Harry had extracted a promise that he'd at least study quietly before he showed him where he was headed.

Currently, Draco's chair was tipped back in the small space so that he was balanced on two legs against the wall. Harry, who had come here for a break more than anything else, had gone through the motions of spreading his work out on the table before pulling out the Map instead. Then he stared between the Map and his textbooks and laid his head down on the table, his cheek resting somewhere over the third floor classrooms.

"The Charms practical is over," Harry mentioned. He knew Draco wasn't nearly so worried about Herbology, History of Magic, or Astronomy, which was all they had left.

"Venemous Tentacula can't cross pollinate with Bubotubers, right?" Draco asked, his nose wrinkling. "That would be horrific. Did you do this chapter already?"

Harry didn't bother to lift his head. "They technically could, but not without assistance because the way the Bubotubers pollinate would kill the Tentacula, and the Tentacula wouldn't tolerate the Bubotuber in close proximity. What did you tell Pansy?"

"Only that Sirius said I can stay with you for the summer holiday," Draco said with an air of forced carelessness. "So hypothetically, someone has probably bred a Bubotuber Tentacula? That's disgusting. Do you think it would capture you and cover you with pus?"

Harry jolted and sat up straight, blinking at Draco. "What?"

"You know, Tentacula vines crossed with Bubotuber pustules. It sounds like a nightmare."

"Draco, you know what I meant." Harry stared, but Draco was very pointedly not making eye contact. "When did he say that?"

"He said if you were okay with it," Draco admitted, lifting the deckled edges of his book and letting the pages slide over his thumb with a repetitive shushing sound. "Last week. Since his house is so well warded and, and we're friends, he said it makes sense."

"Oh." Harry let his eyes drop to the table, frowning. The shushing stopped, and Harry could tell that Draco was watching him. The silence stretched as Harry's eyes drifted over the Map. "Oh," he repeated, sitting up straighter. "It's— Draco, look…"

Draco tensed visibly. Harry had said it with the tone of someone ready to embark on a long speech, but Draco caught on once he saw the significant, pointed gaze Harry had directed at him. He tipped his chair back onto four legs and leaned over to look at where Harry's fingers had fallen on the Map.

"Harry," he said, and they looked up at each other, eyes locking.

Harry nodded. "I think we should take a walk and talk this over," he said slowly. Draco swallowed, a flash of worry tilting his eyebrows, but he nodded.

They packed their things and left the alcove in silence, though Harry kept the Map on top of his books, folded open to the area they were in. "Is it... I mean, do you not want me to—" Draco faltered, uncertain despite the subterfuge. Harry kept his head bent, watching the Map.

"It's not that," he said, stopping in the middle of the hallway and looking briefly at Draco, gesturing with his eyes toward the wall at Draco's back. "I mean, I… we've only just started being friends again, and…"

"I understand," Draco said, his shoulders sagging. He turned away, walked a few steps, and paused. "But, Harry, I don't—" Harry watched his wand slide out of his sleeve and into his hand. "Deprehendo," he snapped, pointing it at the spot on the wall where Harry'd spotted the beetle.

"Of course you can stay at Sirius's house over the summer," Harry said in a rush, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped forward and peered at the insect Draco had captured. "It'd be… fine. I'm almost positive."

"I understand there're a couple other locations all connected up by private floo," Draco commented, still watching Harry narrowly. "If it doesn't end up being fine, I can always go to those."

"Of of those is the Burrow," Harry said, grinning in spite of himself as he bent his head to examine the beetle they'd captured. "As in, the Weasley's house."

Draco's nose wrinkled. "Oh. Well, never mind, then." He lifted his wand, bringing the beetle up to eye level. "I do hope this is her. Otherwise, we've rather given the game away."

"No, I think it's really her," Harry said, pushing his glasses up his nose and peering at the struggling beetle from two inches away. "Look at the markings."

Draco tilted his head and stared critically. He conjured a glass jar and put her inside, punching holes in the lid and sealing it tightly. "One way to find out. Let's go."

They set off down the hall, Harry watching the Map as they went. "It's her," he concluded, after they'd gone three floors and the tiny dot labeled 'Rita Skeeter' had remained with them. "Brilliant. What do we do with her, now?" Draco stopped in his tracks.

"We have another O.W.L. in a couple hours," he reminded Harry, shaking his head. "I'm glad we found her, but I don't have time to hold reporters hostage, not during the O.W.L.'s."

"And the Gryffindors think our priorities are skewed," Harry said, taking the jar and peering inside, one corner of his mouth curled up. "You're right, and I'm not making the same mistake twice. We'll bring her to Snape."

Draco looked relieved and turned his steps toward the dungeons. "Yes. Snape can deal with her."

Snape answered the door looking irritated, and his scowl remained as he ushered them inside and lifted an expectant eyebrow.

"If you've come here for something unrelated to O.W.L.'s, I will be severely disappointed," he informed them. "The Headmaster has taken leave of the castle for the week to deal with that Time Turner business—" Harry flushed and looked down. "—and I am quite busy as a result."

"It's about that, kind of," Draco said when Harry didn't immediately leap to explain. He offered the jar to Snape. "We've found Skeeter."

Snape stared at the jar in Draco's hand, and closed his eyes for a long, silent moment. "If the two of you manage to graduate without having seen the inside of a Ministry holding cell, you will count yourselves lucky, is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Harry said, but Draco persevered.

"What else were we supposed to do, let her roam the castle when we knew where she was? Can't you just obliviate her?"

"Mister Malfoy, you may no longer inherit the Malfoy fortune, but you were still raised better than that," Snape snapped. "Obliviation as an answer to all life's challenges is the recourse of the foolish and the wicked, of which you should be neither. It is a delicate and dangerous process and you will not attempt it without proper training, do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Draco said, lowering his eyes.

"You were right to bring her to me," Snape relented, examining the jar and casting several spells in succession. The beetle glowed blue. "I will handle the situation from here."

"What are you going to do with her?" Harry asked, watching the beetle scrabble frantically around inside the jar. Snape watched as well, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"That," he said as the beetle tried to climb the walls of the jar and slid back down to the bottom, "Is none of your concern, Mister Potter. Your O.W.L.'s await. Off with you both."

* * *

The very last O.W.L. was the Astronomy practical, at midnight. The night was clear and silent as they filled out their star charts. Harry could hear Draco muttering under his breath at the next telescope as he filled in names and coordinates with the elegant loops and whorls that constituted his handwriting and made the rest of them tease him that even his quill drawled. Blaise glanced away from his own telescope on Harry's other side and smirked when he spotted Harry looking around absently.

Harry gave him a small smile in return and went back to labeling Venus. The exam proctor passed behind him, pacing slowly around the tower.

The utter stillness and calm meant that Harry heard the knocking sound, and not two minutes later the distant sound of glass shattering made every single student look up, startled.

"Ahem - Twenty minutes to go," the proctor said, though when Harry glanced at him, he saw that even Professor Tofty was peering distractedly out over the grounds. People were at Hagrid's house, and as Harry watched, Hagrid came jogging out of the forest toward them, shouting.

They turned on him, and the shortest figure declared, "Rubeus Hagrid, you will come with us."

"Wha's this about?" Hagrid asked, his voice carrying loud and clear through the night. "I've not done anythin'!"

"I believe that will be for the Wizengamot to decide," Umbridge replied. Hooded robes or not, there was no question it was her.

Things degenerated quickly after that.


	21. The Rebellion

Two days later, McGonagall was still at St Mungo's, Hagrid had disappeared (he'd fled into the forest under his own speed and not been captured, if the rumors were true), and Hogwarts was in chaos.

"Do you think the Headmaster is even aware of what's going on?" Pansy shouted as the four of them bent their heads and walked through the pounding rainstorm that the west wing of the third floor had become host to. "He can't be, can he?"

"Maybe-" Blaise shouted, then went quiet. It could have been the sudden surge of wind that knocked him back a foot, or it could have been tact, but either way, Harry finished his sentence for him.

"Maybe I messed up so badly that even he couldn't fix it and the Ministry is holding him?" Harry finished, his voice slightly hoarse. The guilt ate at him for every hour that Professor Dumbledore didn't return to restore order to the castle.

"That's not what I meant!" Blaise shouted back. "I just-" They reached the end of the storm, and Blaise lowered his voice. "I was going to say: maybe he's of the same mind as the other professors."

"I hope for all our sakes that isn't true," Draco said, dripping wet and scowling. He was wearing the same expression Mrs Figg's cats used to when she made Harry help give them baths, though Harry neglected to mention it.

The hallway was silent as the four of them pulled out their wands and cast drying charms. Pansy finished first, and peered down at the stone floor, alert for a new trap.

By the morning after the Astronomy O.W.L., the entire castle seemed to have heard about what had happened at Hagrid's hut the night before. The response was gradual at first, a low murmur of outrage that swelled and blossomed in the halls with no outlet, until some brave student set off the first firework.

Dinnertime found the castle nearly unrecognizable as a place of learning, and all the professor's attempts at reigning in the madness were perfunctory at best. That very morning, Harry had passed Umbridge shouting at Flitwick while he scratched his head and explained calmly that the fog enveloping her office was more than a match for his Charms expertise.

"If you were thinking of venturing inside anyway, I would use caution," Flitwick had added, apologetically. "My spells indicate the possibility of... well, dear me. I suppose 'lurking' would be the best word for what they're doing."

Umbridge's face was a mask of stifled fury. "For what  _who_  is doing?"

"Whatever is lurking," Flitwick reminded her, patient as ever. "I'm flummoxed, I'm afraid; it's rather embarrassing. I wish you luck, Madame Inquisitor."

Harry would always treasure the memory of her expression as Flitwick ambled away.

"There's nothing here," Pansy said, her wand making one last arc over the hallway in front of them. Draco did his own revealing spells, and made a thoughtful noise of agreement.

"Portable swamp?" he asked, opening his bag and poking around inside.

"We did one of those already," Blaise complained. "I want to see how the Instant Darkness Powder works."

"I have a few Decoy Detonators left," Harry said, fishing them out of his own bag, and it was decided.

"Give it a hundred feet, so you really let your guard down," Pansy directed, leading the way down the hall and marking where they'd start setting the new trap.

"Blaise, get over here before we throw the Powder down, there's no reason for you to be on the wrong side," Draco said, and the four of them worked together to set up a new obstacle for anyone interested in using the third floor.

Later, on the way to lunch, they passed a group of disgruntled and harried looking fourth years. "Don't bother trying to get into Umbridge's classroom," the Slytherin in the group told Blaise as they passed. "There's a horde of doxy guarding the entrance."

"Oddly, Harper, we hadn't noticed," Pansy responded, winking. "Who goes to Umbridge's class these days?"

"I got caught up in a group of Gryffindors that were planning to sabotage her desk," Harper explained, abandoning his group and joining theirs. "I should've known not to trust a Gryffindor plot."

"That Ginny Weasley's got style," Blaise said, and he and Harper watched the Gryffindor group leave for a long second. "Unfortunately, she's also a Weasley, which doesn't say much for her forethought."

"It could've been fun," Harper shrugged. "But then: doxys."

"That's how it always goes with those types," Draco said, nudging Harry, who grinned a little.

"How would you know?" he asked rhetorically, elbowing back. Draco shoved him and he snickered as they skirted a chandelier that had been utterly demolished falling from the ceiling in the Entrance Hall. After a moment to gather themselves and ready their wands for any unforeseen pranks, the five of them stepped into the Great Hall.

"Mr Malfoy," Snape said as they approached the Slytherin table from opposite ends. He stopped and looked Draco up and down while the five of them came to a halt and looked at each other, wondering.

"Yes, sir?" Draco asked, straightening a little. Snape had been one of the teachers who'd either looked the other way or stuck to their classrooms since the madness had begun. It was curious that he was up in the Great Hall, as he rarely ate lunch there to begin with.

"Fifty points to Slytherin for appropriate attire," Snape declared, nodding approvingly at him. He looked to Pansy next. "Miss Parkinson, what time is it?"

"Er, eleven forty three, sir," she said, after casting the Tempus spell.

"Exquisite wand work, and a correct answer," Snape nodded. "Seventy five points to Slytherin. Potter, Zabini, fifty points to each of you for showing a younger student the way to the Great Hall. Harper, fifty points for..." Snape hesitated for only a second. "Making new friends."

With that, Snape turned on his heel and stalked away, toward the exit.

"The counters for Slytherin must be nearly empty by now, all things considered," Harry realized after the five of them stood bewildered for about three seconds.

"Snape's never given me points before," Harper said thoughtfully. "Except five once when I gave a Hufflepuff bad directions. Don't know if he knew they were bad, though."

They all sat down at the table and served themselves. Blaise and Pansy interrogated Harper about the quicksand that had apparently been installed in the dungeon just below the stairs, and Harry and Draco ate and listened closely.

"Hallo, chums," Fred Weasley said, interrupting Harper's monologue about the kind of spells that would backfire halfway across the pit. Harry knew it was Fred because of the giant 'F' on the front of the slightly damp sweater he was wearing. "There's a blizzard going in... well, basically the entire fifth floor," he explained when he noticed Harry looking. He looked pleased as punch by the very idea.

"Haven't seen you around in a while, Weasley," Draco said, twisting in his seat to look up at him. "Or your double. I'd have expected you two to be right in the middle of all this."

"We have been," Fred said comfortably, investigating the depths of his bag. "We've just had to go underground to escape capture by our esteemed dictator. We've only returned briefly to collect data."

With that, he dropped several thick rolls of parchment on the table in the middle of the group, nearly upsetting the juice. Harry's eyes widened.

"We have to fill out all that?"

"Just the relevant bits," Fred explained, nudging Blaise over and sitting down next to him. Blaise shifted aside and raised an eyebrow at Harry over his sandwich, as if to say, 'See what you've brought on us?'

Harry ignored him in favor of taking the scroll Fred handed him and scanning the first bit.

"I'm not giving you all this information," he said, his eyes lingering on the phrase 'currently sexually active?'. "Why are you  _asking_  for all this information?"

"It's important," Fred said, then rolled his eyes. "Just skip that part, Harry. I really just need the stuff about our products."

"I'm not filling any of this out," Harper said, unrolling the parchment to its full length and goggling at it.

"Yes, you are," Fred said immediately. "Because Harry had you sign the contract before he gave you your Beta Box, didn't you, Harry?"

Harry leaned back in his seat as Fred and Harper's accusing gazes both leveled him at once. "I did!" he exclaimed. Fred relented, but Harper's scowl only deepened. Harry glanced around at his friends and saw that they didn't look best pleased with him either. "I told you all you'd have to give feedback, alright? I did say."

"You didn't say it'd be ten feet of feedback," Blaise grumbled, shoving his plate aside and unrolling his own parchment. Fred helpfully offered him a quill. "I thought I was done with writing cramps now that the O.W.L.s are over. You're lucky we have a free period after lunch."

"And Transfiguration after that," Pansy agreed. "Basically, the rest of the day off."

"That's the spirit!" Fred said, beaming as they all put their heads down and grudgingly began filling out the questionnaires. "I'll be back for those in a tic."

He leapt up and beelined for the Hufflepuff table, where a small group of older students quailed at the sight of him and his parchments.

"Did anyone feel concerned for their personal safety while using the Psychadelic Scuttlers?" Harper asked, after five minutes or so of silence. Harry looked up.

"What's a Psychadelic Scuttler?" he asked, going for his bag. Blaise was already digging through his for the box Harry'd given him.

"Weren't they those little feet with teeth?" Pansy asked, pausing in her writing and watching Harry and Blaise dig around.

"No, they were the ones that explode and cover you in color changing paint if you get too close, I thought," Draco said. He frowned. "Or..."

Harper shook his head. "They were the ones that follow someone around and make everyone within a hundred feet hallucinate that you're there, so you can do other things. I sent mine to my classes with Stuart all day yesterday."

"It couldn't be that one. How would that affect your personal safety?" Draco challenged, glancing up from where he'd been pouring over the list of items toward the top.

"When Stuart saw the real me, he thought I was the fake for a few minutes," Harper explained. "And then he was furious because he'd been talking to it all day. I guess that could've gone badly."

"I never saw that one," Harry said, still poking through his box. "I want to try it on Filch."

"I'm saving mine for History of Magic," Blaise decided, having found the right colorful bag. He examined it closely. "Do you think it'll've gone off by September?"

"Ask when Weasley comes back," Pansy said, going back to her parchment. Harry found his own Scuttlers and, satisfied, picked up his quill along with the others.

* * *

Harry was being pulled in what felt like a dozen different directions, and it  _hurt_. He couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate on anything but the pain and the brief flashes of color and light that nearly blinded him in his panic. There was a fireplace, a corridor, a familiar face- faces: worshipful and confused and worried, irritated. A candle flickering on the nightstand.

A snake on the rug by the fire.

A worried flash of blond and green.

A cold, clinical door at the end of a blank hall.

A pensive face watching him.

A man kneeling.

"Harry!  _Wake. Up!_ "

Harry jolted up into two pairs of hands. Draco and Blaise were standing over him on each side of his bed, white faced and staring at him. His head felt like it was splitting open.

"Are you okay? You were screaming." Blaise helped him to sit up completely as Draco rearranged Harry's pillows. The two of them leaned him back against his headboard while he clutched at his hair, trying to control the pain somehow.

"No, it's- no, I can't  _think_ ," Harry said through gritted teeth, trying not to whimper. "There're too many- I don't know what-"

"Harry, stop it," Draco demanded, grabbing one of his wrists and untangling his hand from his hair. "You're hurting yourself."

Blaise disappeared, and in the time it took Harry to realise, he was back with a glass of water. "Drink this," he ordered. Harry stared at it, and managed to let go with his other hand and take it. The water sloshed as he lifted it, and he spilled a little on his fingers as he drank.

"What happened?" Draco asked, still watching him closely alongside Blaise. "Was it a vision? A nightmare?"

"I don't know," Harry said, trying to take a deep breath. He curved his shoulders in and gripped the water glass tightly. "I wasn't... It wasn't like anything. I was everywhere at once."

"Where is everywhere?" Blaise asked slowly. Harry's thoughts were scattered, confused. He tried his best to focus and answer, though he wasn't sure himself what he was going to say.

"I was here, and I was in a bathroom, and a hallway, and a room with a snake, and a fireplace, and I didn't want to be anywhere but here, but I  _was_ -"

"Harry, breathe," Draco said, his voice as slow and soothing as Blaise's had been. "I'm going to get Snape. Breathe."

"Yeah," Harry said, staring at him. He wanted to focus on being here as hard as he could, just in case he suddenly wasn't again. "Okay."

Draco gave him one last concerned glance and disappeared through the door. Blaise sat down at the foot of Harry's bed and chose to take deep, slow breaths instead of asking any more questions. Harry thought he might be panicking too, until he realised his own breathing had unconsciously mirrored Blaise's, and that he felt calmer.

"How did you do that?" he asked, sitting back against his pillows again.

"It works on Draco," Blaise explained, shrugging. They sat in silence, listening to Vince and Greg snore in counterpoint.

Draco came back with Snape in tow much more quickly than Harry would have expected. He had a moment of doubt about how much time had actually passed, and was alarmed with himself.

"Mr Potter, look at me," Snape said in a sharp tone. Harry's eyes snapped up to him. "Your Occlumency?"

"I always-" Harry began, then stopped himself. He hadn't last night; he'd been exhausted from navigating the quicksand pit and escaping the Blast Ended Skrewt someone had set loose in the dungeons, and had fallen straight to sleep. He hadn't even brushed his teeth. "No," he said, deflating.

Snape nodded, unsurprised. "What did you see?"

Harry frowned and tried to explain the conflicting images still flashing through his mind. "I was in the bathroom... but no, I was here, but there was a fireplace in the corner, and a... a bathroom down the hall. The snake was watching me, and Draco and Blaise were..."

"Harry, you said they were all different places," Blaise interrupted. Harry looked at him, confused.

"You did," Draco agreed, glancing to Snape. "He said there were too many places-"

"Everywhere at once," Blaise added. Snape looked at Harry again, waiting for a confirmation. Harry rubbed at his eye, wanting the pain to go away so he could focus.

"If I said that..." he mumbled. "There was a man too, I knew him but I can't remember who it was. No, two people."

"They weren't me and Blaise?" Draco asked. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, there was a vial of potion hovering in front of his face. He looked up at Snape thankfully.

"Maybe," he told Draco, though it didn't feel right.

The potion made most of the pain vanish in an instant, and Harry sighed and relaxed his shoulders. Snape watched him with intense focus for a minute, then nodded, satisfied.

"You will write down as much detail as you can remember from what you experienced in your dream journal," he told Harry, and looked to Blaise and Draco. "Including, word for word, what you told these two. I have no doubt they will assist you. Describe the locations, who was there, what they looked like, the placement of everything around you, where you stood. Everything you can recall. Then sleep, and bring it to me first thing in the morning."

"Yes, sir," the three of them said dutifully. Harry picked up his journal from his nightstand. Snape watched him for a short moment, then nodded and left.

* * *

"The hallway was just grey," Harry explained the next morning, sitting stiffly in his seat in Snape's office. "Grey hallway, black door at the end."

"And that's all you saw of that particular scene?" Snape asked, pouring over Harry's journal. Harry hesitated.

"It felt like I should know more about it," he said, frowning as he tried to remember. "Or... maybe that was the bathroom? I-"

"You say here the bathroom scene felt thoughtful," Snape reminded him, one long finger resting halfway down the page in the journal. The finger slid further down. "The hallway scene felt wrong."

"Right, because-"

"Don't attempt to explain why, just tell me what," Snape reminded him, glancing up. "The stories you create are less useful than the initial reactions you had. Do not fall prey to that urge."

Harry paused and collected his thoughts, nodding as he went. "There was something less solid about it," he said, once he sifted through the tangle to focus on just the hallway. "Everything else felt like it was happening to me, but that felt like... a dream, like it was supposed to be there. Everything else was wrong, because I was supposed to be dreaming, but they weren't- they weren't dreams."

"None of them?" Snape asked, his voice sharp. Harry looked up and shook his head. "I don't think so. Maybe... maybe the bathroom?"

"A young face in the bathroom," Snape read, and fell silent as he continued to peruse Harry's written thoughts. "Standing in front of you, staring at you. And you don't recall whose face?"

"I just know I knew them," Harry confirmed, furrowing his brow as he tried again to put a name to the face and the feeling behind it. "But... I guess I didn't? It was like looking in a funhouse mir-" He cut himself off abruptly as the pieces clicked into place. "I was looking in the mirror, but I didn't recognise myself, that was what it was. I wasn't me, even though I could see... me. If that makes sense."

Snape's posture relaxed marginally. "Not a vision, then," he prompted. "Just a rather symbolic dream."

"I guess so," Harry said, blinking as he recalled the dream again. Now that the pieces fit, the dark hair and pale skin of the person in his dream easily resolved themselves into a strange version of himself in his mind.

"I believe the hallway you dreamed of was planted in your mind by the Dark Lord," Snape explained, closing the dream journal. "You had a dream, and then you had the 'vision' he planted. Unfortunately for him, your skill at both Occlumency and Legilimency is such that you were able to see past the vision to what was truly occurring, and therefore you saw both his surroundings: the fireplace, the snake, and the kneeling man, and the dream you would have otherwise been having: that of you in the mirror."

"Alright," Harry said, sitting back in his chair and frowning. "So... it's okay. His plan didn't work, because I know about it, so whatever he wanted me to know about the hallway- how could showing me a hallway, I mean, what was so important about it?"

Snape's gaze flickered between Harry and the dream journal for a fraction of a second before he answered. "In all likelihood, it is a trap. Had you not been as capable of fighting it off, perhaps you would have seen more than the hallway."

"That was just the beginning," Harry said, nodding. "And I suppose I don't want to know what was at the end."

"I somehow doubt it," Snape said dryly.

* * *

Things took a turn for the worse after dinner that night. Fred and George, who were still out and about gathering the last of their data, managed a run-in with Umbridge in the Entrance Hall. The three of them made a sight, Fred and George adroitly maneuvering around the shattered chandelier in the middle of the hall, both managing to keep Umbridge at a distance despite all her best attempts to capture them by wand or hand. They both had their own wands out, Fred summoning what seemed to be an entire library of scrolls from distant halls and nearby schoolbags, even as George covered him and allowed him to stuff them into what had to be a magically enlarged bag at his hip.

"You will  _cease_  this nonsense immediately!" Umbridge shouted, her face bright red with outrage.

"It's just parchment, it's not a crime," Fred retorted.

"Not even by your standards!" George chimed in. They both yelped when Umbridge aimed a spell at one of their scrolls instead, catching it on fire.

"Those are very important notes!" Fred said, his voice going up an octave as he and George both rushed to gather and protect the last few scrolls, even as Umbridge took aim.

"Misters Weasley, you are both students of this school, and as such fall un-"

"Is that how it is?" George asked, glancing at Fred. His twin shrugged, and the two of them looked at Umbridge as one.

"Have it your way!" Fred declared, casting a final spell. "No need to be so bothered, professor, we know just how to fix what ails you."

"Don't worry about us anymore," George added, a grin growing on his face as two brooms arrived in the hall and hovered next to their owners. "We've outgrown full-time education, haven't we, George?"

Umbridge glowered at them and raised her wand to intercede. "You-"

"Exactly what I was thinking, Fred," Fred replied, fastening his bag and swinging a leg over his broom even as Umbridge cast a binding spell at the two of them. George deflected it, and the two of them shot up into the air.

"If you think removing yourself from the protection of scholastic discipline will  _improve_  your situation _-_ "

The two of them grinned at her, light and agile on their brooms. "Protection, eh?"

"We'll risk it."

And with that, they flew out the great front doors and into the sunset, a scene so perfect that Harry thought  _had_ to be at least partially premeditated.

Fred and George were like that.

* * *

The twins' spectacular departure was all anyone was talking about the next morning, unsurprisingly. Harry, Draco, Pansy and Blaise helped each other across the quicksand pit that morning in fairly high spirits, still reminiscing cheerfully about the exact shade of red Umbridge's face had gone when she'd realized they were lost to her.

"I take back everything I ever said about them," Draco allowed as they reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the unusually crowded Entrance Hall.

"Everything bad?" Harry asked, knowing what Draco's answer would be, but still amused enough to set it up for him.

"That's right," Draco replied, grinning back. "Everything I ever said."

They made it about halfway across the Entrance Hall before it occurred to any of them that something was wrong.

"What's going on?" Pansy asked, touching the arm of a Ravenclaw girl in their year to get her attention. She shook her head and shrugged, forehead creased.

"No one's going inside," she explained. "I haven't heard what's going on yet."

Blaise and Harry exchanged glances, but it was Pansy that nodded curtly and began shoving through the assembled students.

"I thought no one would touch the Great Hall," Draco grumbled, the three of them following closely in her wake as her excessive cobbing made a space for them all. The closer they came to the Hall proper, the more the pushback came in the form of people trying to leave.

"It's rude, that's all," Blaise agreed, allowing several third years to pass. They looked distressed, and he hesitated before he continued, his eyes following the youngest of the group, who was pale and in tears. "People... people need to eat."

Pansy reached the doors and broke through the assembled students with her wand drawn, and Harry nearly walked right into her back as she stopped abruptly.

"Pans, what-"

Draco and Blaise drew to a halt more gracefully than Harry had, and the people around them used the space they'd cleared to back away, exposing the four of them at the front of the crowd and allowing them to see the situation clearly.

There was a young man sitting in the Headmaster's chair at the top of the Hall, wearing a delicate crown over a thick, dark head of hair. He spotted the four Slytherins and gave them an easy, lazy smile.

"Don't worry, I've just finished," he said, gesturing to the body laid out neatly on the table in front of him that Harry had been trying with fierce horror to avoid looking at too closely. He was limp and lifeless, and paralyzingly familiar, his Ravenclaw tie a bright contrast with his grey features. "I won't interrupt your breakfast any more than I already have."


	22. The Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!: This is a really depressing chapter, which is largely about and includes Character Death. And basically all the bad emotions. Nothing good happens in this chapter. So... proceed with caution.

 

“I really have been quite an imposition, haven’t I?”

Harry and Pansy backed up as one as the dark haired man stood from his seat, ostentatiously dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. He glanced down at it and smirked as though at a private joke, and then let the napkin fall carelessly onto Anthony’s body.

“I should at least introduce myself,” he continued, speaking directly to Harry and his friends now. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws around them were given barely a flicker of a glance before he fixed his gaze on the four of them again. “Perhaps we’ll all know better where we stand.” He hesitated a moment, gazing at Anthony with a thoughtful expression that made Harry’s heart lodge in his throat and made breathing difficult. He knew somehow that Anthony wasn’t in that body anymore, that he was lost to whatever this man had done.

“My name is Tom Riddle,” the man said, a flicker of a sneer flashing across his features as he spoke. “According to reliable sources, my preferred alias has been somewhat -- tarnished. I can only blame myself.” He was back to smiling to himself again, at another unshared joke. “Not specifically me, obviously. I only just got here. I mean my other self.” His gaze sharpened on Draco, who had gone ashen, and his smile was full of teeth. “I see you’ve heard of me. Lovely.”

Harry reached out and gripped the nearest hand, which turned out to be Blaise’s. He squeezed back nearly hard enough to break the bones in Harry’s fingers, but Harry hardly noticed. He felt frozen in place, terror leeching at his muscles and making him weak.

Riddle walked around the Head table and leaned against the front of it, crossing his arms and tapping a wand, Anthony’s wand, against one bicep. “As I was saying, my original self has done some damage. I can’t use ‘Voldemort’ anymore, it’s-- Oh...” He paused as the rest of the students within earshot reacted, abruptly on the same page as Harry and his friends.  Riddle seemed pleased as he watched the other students in the Hall shoving and shouting to escape the doorway. “Perhaps he’s not completely bolloxed it up,” he said, his wide, toothy smile blossoming again. If Riddle hadn’t been so terrifying, he could have been described as charming. Harry, who was suddenly the focus of Riddle’s intense, currently pleased gaze, found that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Either way, it’s already in use, so it’s no good to me,” he continued, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion. “Perhaps I’ll come up with something else, eventually, but Tom Riddle will do for now. The two of us can’t be running around using the same name; I don’t want any confusion. And I don’t want to associate myself with his failures.”

His eyes raked assessingly over the four of them in their Slytherin attire. “I plan to be better than my past mistakes,” he assured them. His eyes, clear and vivid, darkened with something that made Pansy take another small step back, pressing the back of her shoulder against the front of Harry’s. She stayed where she was. “Voldemort has disappointed me, and he will know of it. And those who help me,” he met each of their eyes in turn, the darkness in them making the ache in Harry’s forehead explode for a brief, bright shard of a second. “They will be richly rewarded.”

 

* * *

 

Tom Riddle swept past the Slytherins on his way out with only a brief glance at the shattered chandelier in the Entrance Hall, which was visible as word had spread and most students had already fled. The professors had caught wind of the situation and were amassing, but even Flitwick froze when he caught sight of Riddle. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost, and though Harry knew that expression meant nothing in the wizarding world, he couldn’t think of a better way to describe how Flitwick stared as Riddle calmly exited through the front doors. Umbridge, too, was wordless and gaping, though the few students still in the Entrance Hall found their voices once Riddle had vanished. 

“That was--” 

“He said he was You-Know-Who!” 

“Tom Riddle, he said--”

“--to those Slytherins--”

“--his real name?”

“I thought he--”

“--but he was so young!”

“He said he was You-Know-Who though!”

“All students to their dormitories immediately,” Umbridge snapped, suddenly coming out of her reverie as Riddle departed. “This chaos has gone on quite long enough.”

The other professors moved as one, in an unusual consensus with the High Inquisitor. Snape found Harry and the other three Slytherins still frozen on the threshold of the Great Hall. Once Riddle had ceased to be an immediate threat, Harry’s attention turned back to Anthony, still motionless on the Head table.

“Shouldn’t someone go after him?” Draco was saying to Snape, his voice high with panic. “Shouldn’t-- where’s Dumbledore, shouldn’t we-- he can’t just disappear, that was the Dark Lord, that’s... that’s him, that’s--”

“Harry, come back here,” Blaise said, tugging Harry’s arm. Harry realized he’d been walking toward Anthony without knowing it. Once he realized, he pulled away from Blaise and kept going. “Harry!”

“Harry, no.” Pansy joined Blaise on Harry’s other side, impeding his line of sight. Harry craned his neck to see past her and tried to extricate himself from his friends’ hands as gently as possible. He didn’t want to harm them, but he needed...

It was too distant. It hurt, badly, but Harry couldn’t feel it. It was flakes of pain swirling around in his skull, never quite landing. It wasn’t real.

“Mr Potter. Harry.” That wasn’t Pansy or Blaise, but Harry didn’t bother to look back to find the speaker. He moved more urgently, struggling past the people in his way, ignoring everything but his goal, and finally reached the table, gripping the edge to catch his balance.

It wasn’t Anthony anymore.

The body on the table had his general shape, but it didn’t breathe like him. It didn’t angle its chin like him. It didn’t sleep like him. It wasn’t asleep. It wasn’t Anthony. Anthony wasn’t in this Hall. He was gone.

The body was blurring before Harry’s eyes. He reached up to check that his glasses hadn’t fallen off and found they’d become spotted with water. He pulled them off and let them drop from his shaking fingers, reaching out and thinking that maybe he could put Anthony back somehow if he touched the--

The body.

It hurt.

It was real and it hurt.

Harry’s breath came out as a choked off, horrible sound, and he gasped, trying to make it stop. He didn’t want to hear the noises he was making, but trying to stop them just made them worse. Harry couldn’t breathe, he was suffocating on his own air, he couldn’t--

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from the dead body and against a solid, warm, living person. Harry buried his face against their shoulder with no idea or concern for who it was.

“Breathe,” a voice commanded. Harry’s hands tightened in the other person’s robes, the harsh burning in his lungs a counterpoint to the screaming muscles in his forearms and the solid ache of his fingers.

“Breathe, Harry,” the sharp voice said again, and Harry obeyed, painfully.

“Anthony,” he said, his voice muffled against dark robes and misery. “He’s-- Anthony-- he’s killed him, he’s-- how could he just...?”

“Where did he even come from? How did he get inside Hogwarts?” Draco put a hand on Harry’s arm as he spoke to the person Harry was holding on to. Snape, he realized a moment later, as his professor responded.

“I cannot say.” Harry pulled away slightly to look at him and found that his friends had formed a circle around them, shielding Harry from the sight of the rest of the Hall and what lay on the table nearby. “Dumbledore will already know what has happened.” He let Harry step away, who hadn’t realized how anchoring Snape’s grip on his shoulders had been until it was gone, and looked around at Draco, Pansy, and Blaise. “We will find him.”

* * *

 

Harry didn’t realize how little attention he’d afforded to the rest of the world on the walk back to Slytherin until everything snapped back into focus with one thought: Luna.

“Harry?” Pansy asked cautiously, doubling back when she realized he’d stopped walking and taking his wrist in one hand as though to pull him along.

“N- I mean, I’m... I need to go get something,” Harry said, rubbing his brow wearily, his voice hoarse. “I’ll see you guys in a little while.”

“I’ll come with you,” Draco said immediately. Harry lifted his gaze to stare at him for a few seconds, but refusing seemed like more than Harry could handle just then.

“This way,” he said, and Draco followed, silent and unquestioning until they reached the kitchens.

“Er, Harry...” he said, looking at him oddly.

“I need sandwiches,” Harry explained, aware that it didn’t make sense and not really caring. He tickled the pear and climbed inside. Draco made a sound of surprise next to Harry when they realized Luna was already there. Harry wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

She turned away from the elf when she heard them and gave Harry a watery, shaky smile. “I was just coming to find you,” she said, gesturing to her bag. “I have the Quibblers already.”

A choked sound that was supposed to be a laugh came out of Harry’s throat and he met her halfway across the room in a fierce embrace that was partially a hug and partially just both of them keeping the other one standing.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and he felt more than saw her shake her head where it was pressed against his shoulder. “Luna--”

“He was your friend too,” Luna’s quiet voice interrupted. “Don’t apologize.” Harry nodded, his throat tight.

“Er,” Draco said after a long pause. Harry glanced up and saw that one of the elves had handed the sandwiches over to him, and he stood holding them in the middle of the kitchens, looking awkward and out of place. He cleared his throat. “We should get back, if you don’t need anything else.” He cast a glance around the kitchens and gratefully took a carafe of pumpkin juice from a different elf. “I’ll lead the way, shall I?”

 

* * *

 

Harry didn’t lock his curtains like he had last year, in part because Pansy, Blaise and Draco followed them into the dormitory and warded the door against their other roommates. They all crowded onto Harry’s bed and sat huddled together in silent, communal horror and grief.

Several times, Pansy or Blaise seemed ready to speak, or Draco shifted as though taking a bracing breath, but the silence prevailed. Harry had nothing to say, and Luna seemed uninclined to do anything except lean quietly against his side and wet his shoulder with her tears.

Hours after Theo and Vince and Greg had all finished banging on the door and had accepted that they weren’t sleeping in their own beds that night, Harry spoke.

“I don’t understand how he--” He broke off, unable to articulate the question. His mind was still swirling with the suddenness of what had happened. “I saw him at the end of last year, and he didn’t look anything like that.”

“He said he wasn’t him, though,” Pansy responded, after a long pause. “He talked about the Dark Lord like they weren’t the same person, except that they were.”

“He called him his ‘original self’,” Blaise agreed, frowning. “Merlin, how can there be more than one of him?”

“He’s stealing souls,” Luna said from Harry’s side. “That’s how he came back, and how he has this new body.”

The four of them turned as one to stare at her. “Luna, that’s--” Harry paused, unable to hide his horror. “Awful.”

She sat up a little and met his gaze with her own grief stricken expression. “That doesn’t make it any less likely, Harry.”

“No, what makes it less likely is that it’s barmy,” Pansy interrupted, before Harry could speak. Her face was pale, but she was frowning fiercely at Luna. “Don’t say awful things like that.”

“Pansy,” Blaise said, putting a hand on her arm. She shrugged him off and turned her gaze to Harry.

“We don’t need to come up with ways of making this seem even worse than it already is,” she insisted, even as Harry frowned back at her.

“We shouldn’t hide from possibilities just because they scare us!” Luna responded in kind. Harry turned to calm her and found her to be less angry and more anguished than he’d expected from her tone.

“This isn’t your father’s loony magazine!” Pansy snapped back. Harry reacted immediately.

“Pansy!” he said, outraged.

She looked right back, unrepentant and defensive. “Harry, you’re already upset, she shouldn’t--”

“She’s as upset as I am!” Harry’s voice rose as he looked around at Blaise and Draco, who were wide eyed and silently refusing to become involved. “Anthony was her friend, too!”

“Do you honestly think she’s right?” Pansy demanded, and Harry decided that was quite enough.

“We’re leaving,” he said, shoving at Draco a little harder than perhaps was necessary in his haste to get off the bed.

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Wait--”

“Harry, you don’t have to leave,” Draco said, even as he let himself be shoved. He climbed off the bed and followed Harry as he stalked toward the door. Harry turned back and found that Luna was still seated, wearing an uncertain expression. “It’s fine, just stay. I know you’re upset, you should be--”

“It’s not fine,” Harry said furiously. “Luna matters, too. Come on, Luna, let’s go.”

“But we’re just worried about you,” Draco said, looking back and forth between Luna and Harry as she picked up her bag and went to stand next to Harry. “Both of you,” he tried, placatingly.

Harry shook his head and unwarded the door. “I don’t believe you,” he said. He ushered Luna out the door and glanced back at Draco who, to his credit, did look incredibly worried. They all did. Even Pansy’s shamefaced expression was mingled with very real worry. “I’ll see you later,” he said to Draco, giving him a pitiful attempt at a reassuring smile as he pulled the door shut behind them.

Once they’d made it out of the Slytherin common room unharrassed and into the silent dungeon corridors, Luna looped her arm through Harry’s and tugged at him so he’d slow his pace. He realised then that he’d been storming down the hall and she’d been hurrying to keep up with him, and frowned at himself.

“Sorry,” he said, and she nodded, unbothered.

“Where are we going?” she asked, after they emerged onto the ground floor and Harry quickly led them up another set of stairs, away from the Great Hall. He couldn’t ever go back in there, he knew. Not for a very long time, at least. There would always be--

“Where are we going, Harry?” Luna repeated.

Harry realised he’d been leading them in the vague direction of the Owlery and hesitated.  “Er,” he said. He hadn’t planned that far ahead. “Ravenclaw?” he said finally, looking to her for approval. She only nodded and steered him down a different hallway than the one they’d been aiming for.

They reached the door at the top of the spiral staircase that led into Ravenclaw Tower, and the bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle eyed Harry in particular before speaking. “You can see nothing else when you look in my face. I will look you in the eye and never lie.”

Harry stared, but Luna only paused a moment before answering, “My reflection.”

The door opened, and Harry followed Luna inside. The common room was airy, circular, and full of sombre Ravenclaws, all of whom stared when the two of them stepped through the door. Their expressions told Harry that coming to Ravenclaw may have been a mistake, a perception that was confirmed when Professor Flitwick emerged from the crowd and cleared his throat.

“Mr Potter is as bereaved as any of us,” he said in his squeaky voice. “He is welcome in our common room as a guest for as long as he wishes to stay.”

Harry nodded his thanks and glanced at Luna, thinking that the crowded common room hadn’t exactly been the plan. She looked back at him with the same thoughts on her face, and led him instead to a quiet corner where they sat together, trying to ignore the intermittent stares of the other students as Flitwick moved among them and spoke quietly, offering comfort.

Eventually one of them chose to approach Harry and Luna, who had mostly been sitting in silence.

“Harry?” Harry looked up and realized it was Padma, who looked between him and Luna with an odd expression. Her dark hair was pulled over one shoulder, and she fiddled with the ends as Harry frowned at her.

“Yes?” he asked defensively, the argument with Pansy still fresh in his mind. Padma raised her eyebrows.

“I just wondered if you were okay,” she prompted, having apparently decided to ignore Luna. Harry shrugged, trying to ignore all the eyes that had followed Padma to their corner.

“We’re as well as can be expected,” he said, including Luna in his statement. Padma blinked, suddenly looking offended, and gave him a cool glance.

“I understand,” she said, and hesitated as she turned to go. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Harry stared after her, his chest a roiling potion of anger and horror and grief, with no idea of exactly what she ‘understood’, or if he could care at the moment.

“Oh, Harry,” Luna said in an undertone, leaning in and nudging him in the side. “You shouldn’t have done that. She’s quite nice.”

“I know that,” Harry said, looking down at his hands. He’d figure out what he’d done, exactly, later on. Right now he just needed to sit here with Luna and try to cope with the idea of a Hogwarts without Anthony in it.

* * *

 

Snape found Harry asleep on a couch in the Ravenclaw common room the next morning, and waited for him to sit up and rub his eyes before speaking.

“The Headmaster has returned. He wishes to see you in his office,” he said, incongruous against the light blues and bronzes of Ravenclaw. Luna was asleep on an adjacent couch, and Harry woke her by shaking her shoulder to explain where he was going. She murmured something agreeable, and he stood up to follow Snape, ignoring his watchful gaze as he trudged out of the Tower.

“You should be warned,” Snape said as they walked up the stairs. “Mr. Goldstein’s parents wish to meet with you as well. They may be in the Headmaster’s office already when we arrive.”

Harry stumbled over a step and caught himself on the railing. “Anthony’s parents are here?”

“They are,” Snape confirmed, glancing at Harry as he caught up on the landing. “If you do not wish to see--”

“No,” Harry said, and ducked his head when he realized he’d interrupted Snape. “Sorry, er. No. I want to, well. I should.”

Snape nodded and remained silent until they stepped onto the circular staircase that led to the Headmaster’s office. “Your friends are concerned that you did not return to Slytherin last night,” he intoned. Harry faced forward, watching as the stairs drew them closer to the doors at the top. “Miss Parkinson seemed particularly distressed.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry grumbled. Silence from his right made him summon a better answer. “I’ll go there after this.”

“See that you do,” Snape replied, and then they were at the top of the steps and Snape was knocking perfunctorily before opening the door and ushering Harry inside where, sure enough, the Goldsteins were sat across from Dumbledore. Madeline looked up when they entered and stood.

“No more of that for now,” she said to Dumbledore, knuckling tears out of her eyes and focusing on Harry. “Come here, Harry,” she said, offering her hands to him. Harry looked between her and Mr Goldstein and went to her, a lump growing in his throat that made it hard to speak or breathe. She took his hands in hers and gripped them tightly, looking into his eyes with a sympathy Harry could hardly stand. “You were his best friend,” she said. “You’re the only friend he ever brought home to visit.”

Harry bit down hard on his tongue and nodded, trying not to think about the distance that had grown between he and Anthony over the past few months and ignoring the hot prickling in his eyes. Madeline nodded back, and a chasm of guilt opened up in his stomach.

“Simon and I want you to understand,” she said. “If you ever need anything, anything at all, anything you can fathom, Harry, just let us know. He enjoyed your company, and you cared for him. That means more to us than you can imagine, that he was happy at school until--” She broke off, blinking up at the ceiling, then continued in a tremulous voice. “We are here for you.”

Harry cleared his throat roughly and nodded again, looking down and away. “Thank you,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry--”

“It’s not for you to apologize,” Madeline said firmly. Mr Goldstein had joined them on his feet and stood with an arm around her shoulder, nodding.

“It isn’t you we want to hear that from,” he said, pale and wet-eyed. “As Madeline said, you’re welcome wherever we are, for whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” Harry said in a small voice. He didn’t feel worthy of the welcome they were giving him. He and Anthony had barely seen each other recently. Harry had known something must be wrong, but he hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t anything like the good friend they thought he had been.

Madeline squeezed his hands once more before letting go, then turned to Dumbledore, wiping her eyes and straightening. “We will return shortly,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone belied by the tightening of her husband’s arm around her shoulders. “Simon and I must make certain arrangements.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “Of course, Mrs. Goldstein, Mr Goldstein. I am at your disposal as you have need of me.”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” The Goldsteins left quickly and quietly, and Professor Dumbledore turned his gaze to Harry, who couldn’t look up.

“Mr Potter,” Dumbledore said, and Harry glanced up unwillingly to meet his kind blue gaze. “There are few things in this world that I would rather say less than what I am about to tell you,” he began. Snape made an aborted sound in the back of his throat, and Dumbledore gave him a quelling glance before continuing. “Dark times are upon us. More so than any of us realized at the end of your last school year.”

“How could Voldemort--” Harry faltered, turning to Snape for assistance. Snape’s expression was closed off, his posture stiff. He turned back to Dumbledore. “Sir, he has a body already, I thought that was the whole point last year--”

“He now has two,” Dumbledore said, folding his hands on his desk and regarding Harry with a serious, weary cast to his eyes. “A part of his soul that he tore free of the rest, one that was dissatisfied, has taken advantage and found corporeality through your friend, Mr Goldstein. We will do what we must to fight them, but the danger we are all in has multiplied exponentially. I must ask you to be more cautious than ever.”

Harry nodded, horrified and blank. Not even the thought that Luna had been more right than even he’d thought could do much to shake him out of his daze.

“I wish to discuss this in more detail with you at a later date, after I have had the opportunity to gather--” Dumbledore continued, and this time Snape did speak.

“With all due respect, Headmaster.” His voice sliced through the air between them like a curse, and Harry’s head jerked around to look up at him, surprised. He looked furious. Dumbledore turned a penetrating stare on Snape, and Snape paused only a moment before shaking his head roughly and continuing. “There is no sense in this,” he said firmly. “I have made my arguments.”

“Show me another path, Severus,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his eyes. He looked as though the exchange of cryptic comments had exhausted him. Harry was lost, his suspicion that they were talking about him finding no further foothold in their vague words. “I will gladly take it.”

“I have tried--” Snape cut himself off and lifted his head, dignified. “This is no choice. It won’t work.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes again briefly, then turned back to Harry. “I am certain you have questions,” he prompted. Harry nodded slowly, glancing at Snape again. His eyes were dark, empty tunnels, his Occlumency walls firmly lifted. Only his rigid posture revealed his tension as he watched Dumbledore speak. “You will have your opportunity to ask them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just for the record: I figure that Tom Riddle hid the diadem in the school when he came to interview for the DADA position, so this version of him is in his early to mid twenties. Also I’m sooooorrrrrryyyyy, it had to happen!


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